


Shock You Like You Won't Believe

by Chispas_and_broken_bindings



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Chicago (City), Drunk Theon Greyjoy, F/M, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Humor, Healthy Relationships, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Jon Snow Knows Something, Jon Snow and Robb Stark are Best Friends, Jon Snow and the Starks Are Not Related, Minor Robb Stark/Jeyne Westerling, Sexual Content, Sharing a Bed, Texting, Thirsty Sansa Stark, Val (Holla!), accidentally sharing a bed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:26:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25276141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chispas_and_broken_bindings/pseuds/Chispas_and_broken_bindings
Summary: Sansa is homesick. When she spends the night at her brother's apartment to escape the dorms, she might have picked the wrong bed...or is it the right one?
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark, Robb Stark/Jeyne Westerling
Comments: 385
Kudos: 688





	1. Chapter 1

**Private WhatsApp Conversation**

**Resumed by:** Sansa Stark on 16th October, 8:30 p.m.

 **Members:** Sansa Stark, Robb Stark

==================================

 **Sansa Stark:** Why didn't you warn me about how horrible dorms are?

 **Robb Stark:** Have to learn some things yourself, little sister. Builds character.

 **Sansa Stark:** I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'd rather room with Arya than Lollys

 **Robb Stark:** lol

 **Sansa Stark:** Seriously, she's eating an egg-salad sandwich in the bunk beneath me and playing angry birds (VOLUME WAY ON) for the third straight hour. Who still plays angry birds?! I have an essay to write and I can't concentrate

 **Robb Stark** : Go to the library, like everyone else

 **Sansa Stark:** Should I sleep there too? I can't sleep in a room that smells like eggs

 **Robb Stark:** Can't you crash at Margaery's or something?

 **Sansa Stark:** She's got a new bf. She's busy…

 **Sansa Stark:** … _bowchickawowow_

 **Robb Stark:** Don't.

 **Sansa Stark:** Robb?

 **Sansa Stark:** I'm dying. This closet that mom and dad pay $$$$ for has no ventilation and everything smells like EGGS!

 **Sansa Stark:** RobbRobbRobbRobbRobbRobbRobb

 **Sansa Stark:** S.O.S

 **Sansa Stark:** It's an EGGmergency.

 **Robb Stark:** New phone. Who dis?

 **Sansa Stark:** ROBB!

**Private WhatsApp Conversation**

**Resumed by:** Sansa Stark on 16th October, 10:10 p.m.

 **Members:** Sansa Stark, Jeyne Westerling

==================================

**Sansa Stark:** It's not working

 **Jeyne Westerling:** Tell him you're going to a frat party

**Private WhatsApp Conversation**

**Resumed by:** Sansa Stark on 16th October, 10:15 p.m.

 **Members:** Sansa Stark, Robb Stark

==================================

**Sansa Stark:** Fine, I guess I'll DM the cute boy from the lacrosse team and see if I can crash at his frat tonight. I'm sure there's an extra couch (or beds) I can sleep on…

Like magic, Sansa's phone rings. Jeyne is a literal genius.

"Hi Robb."

"You are the worst. I'm not your parent."

"You're my older, wiser brother who is supposed to protect and guide me through my first year away from home."

He groans, "Fine. There is an extra key to my apartment underneath the garden gnome. You can crash in my room tonight. I'll sleep at Jeyne's."

"When am I going to meet this Jeyne?"

"Never. Don't snoop through my stuff and don't talk to my roommates."

"You're no fun."

"You're a pain in the ass."

"I love you too!"

"How are you going to get there?"

"Hitchhike?"

"Sansa."

"Uber, duh."

"K. Seriously, don't talk to Theon. He'll try and get in your pants, and then I'll have to kill him. I'd like my first appearance at a murder trial to be as one of the prosecutors…not the defendant. "

"What about the other one? With the manbun."

"Jon?"

"Yeah. _Jon._ "

"You're not his type."

She huffs, "how so?"

"You are a child. He is in law school."

"I'm almost nineteen, Robb! I'm only three years younger than you."

"You are a baby giraffe. Don't talk to my roommates."

**Private WhatsApp Conversation**

**Resumed by:** Sansa Stark on 16th October, 10:30 p.m.

 **Members:** Sansa Stark, Jeyne Westerling

==================================

 **Sansa Stark:** You are my favorite future in-law. Just wanted you to know.

 **Jeyne Westerling: 😊** Shush, you. Robb and I have only been dating a few months.

 **Sansa Stark:** When do we tell my idiot brother that we already know each other?

 **Jeyne Westerling:** He's not an idiot. Not yet. This secret is too much fun. Robb called me a 'witchy woman' the other night. He thinks I have 'the sight'

 **Sansa Stark:** You are wicked

I love it

 **Jeyne Westerling:** I didn't mean to imply Robb isn't yet an idiot. He isn't an idiot. Period.

 **Jeyne Westerling:** He's lovely.

 **Sansa Stark:** Ewww. No mushy talk about my brother.

Robb didn't have to worry so much about Sansa talking to his roommates. First of all, his apartment is empty when Sansa shows up (thank god) and second of all, as soon as she's out of the sulfurous hell-pit that is her dorm room, she realizes she is completely freaked out by the idea of barging into the apartment of three grown men, two of whom are almost complete strangers. If they _were_ there, she'd have tried to scamper away like a frightened mouse before they caught sight of her. She's only seen Robb's new place once, when her parents dropped off a box of things for him on her freshman orientation day. She's not even sure which room is his…

The first bedroom…

Is a disaster of beer cans, music posters, guitars, amps, and a mattress with nothing but a serape bunched over it, on the floor. Is that a used condom? Gross. Moving on.

The second bedroom…

Is definitely better. Neat. A little sterile. Law books stacked on the desk in the corner. No other identifying marks. Those sheets look familiar though.

The third bedroom…

Very similar to the second…more law books. A little messier. Empty coffee cups and…a pack of cigarettes. Robb doesn't smoke. Second bedroom it is.

She flops onto the bed. A double…but creaky springs. Robb must always sleep at Jeyne's. She opens the dresser. He is _much_ neater than he used to be. He doesn't keep many clothes here (it must be serious with Jeyne) but the clothes he has are folded very precisely. She pulls a black t-shirt out, and it smells good. She'll have to ask him what detergent he uses. Ooh! She is such an adult. Wondering about laundry detergent. She shimmies out of her jeans and pulls off her camisole, shrugging into Robb's t-shirt instead. It's worn and soft and it really smells so good. She could get used to this.

It's so quiet here. And clean. And devoid of egg smell.

She has a paper to write, but suddenly she is too tired. She sleeps horribly in the dorms. There are too many people banging in and out of their rooms at all hours, and there is always music playing or a light on, or a screen on, and Lollys is _always_ there and there is always some activity or social event that she feels like she should attend, and she feels so homesick…and Robb's t-shirt smells so good, and his pillow is really the perfect thickness, and she's so tired. She'll just plug in her phone and her laptop and write her paper tomorrow…

**Whatsapp group: Theon is Dumbass years old!**

**Members:** Robb Stark, Theon Greyjoy, Jeyne Westerling, Val (Holla!), Pypp ARGH!, Just Grenn, Jon Snow, Satin Flowers

=====

**Robb Stark:** I'm just finishing up at the library. Everyone still at the bar?

 **Jeyne Westerling:** I just got home. I've got an early start at the clinic tomorrow.

 **Val (Holla!):** Smart move. Theon and Ros are wasted and snogging in front of everyone. I think Jon's gf (what's her name? Hygge?) broke up with him. He's being even more of a mopey bastard than usual 😬Grenn and Pypp keep plying him with shots.

 **Robb Stark:** So it's a shitshow?

 **Val (Holla!):** Pretty much. What is her name? Yeg?

 **Val (Holla!):** Grenn?

 **Just Grenn:** I am not Jon's gf

 **Pypp ARGH!:** They did make out once, though

 **Satin Flowers:** No, that was Jon and I

 **Pypp ARGH!:** Right

That makes more sense

Maybe you should do it again

Get him over…

srlsy what's her name?

 **Jeyne Westerling:** Maybe we shouldn't talk about Jon's love life on the group chat?

 **Val (Holla!):** What else would we talk about on the group chat? Theon and Ros aren't that interesting.

 **Val (Holla!):** Plus, It’s not like Jon will ever read it. He didn't even check the group texts when we were in Montevideo1 last year. When it was NECESSARY

FOR LOGISTICS

 **Satin Flowers:** Get over it, Val. We all survived

 **Pypp ARGH!:** Barely

 **Satin Flowers:** Pypp, you have only yourself to blame for your poor choices 💊

 **Val (Holla!):** Theon and Ros have stopped snogging. They are now fighting

 **Robb Stark:** So, should I come out?

 **Jeyne Westerling:** No, you should come to my place…

 **Jeyne Westerling:** I can put on a different kind of show…

**Satin Flowers: 👀**

**Robb Stark:** Tell me more…

 **Jeyne Westerling:** Your options are the second season of Gilmore Girls2 or the nineteenth season of Midsomer Murders3 😘

 **Robb Stark:** You're such a troll. I love you.

 **Robb Stark:** I mean

 **Val (Holla!):** Awwwwwww 😍

 **Pypp ARGH!:** Rob loves Jeyne!

**Just Grenn: 🍆🤰👰⚰️**

**Satin Flowers:** I know I'm not invited. But my vote is Midsomer Murders.

 **Robb Stark:** Shit. That was a mistake

 **Robb Stark:** Wait, that doesn’t sound right, either…

 **Robb Stark:** I meant the text was a mistake

 **Robb Stark:** I meant to tell you in person

 **Robb Stark:** Shit…

 **Robb Stark:** Do you still want me to come over?

 **Val (Holla!):** Regret?

It's something like that…

 **Satin Flowers:** Ygritte

 **Pypp ARGH!:** That makes more sense

 **Val (Holla!):** That's it! 💯

 **Val (Holla!):** Update: Theon and Ros are snogging again…Jon is properly drunk. I'm going home.

 **Satin Flowers:** Split a cab?

 **Val (Holla!):** Why are we still texting? You are sitting right next to me. Finish your drink and come on, you lush.

_What the fuck, Robb! What kind of idiot tells their girlfriend 'I love you' for the first time in a group chat!_

Robb fumbles in his bag for a cigarette, but shit, he must have left them at the apartment. Hopefully, Sansa doesn't notice. His phone rings. _Jeyne._

"Hey-"

"Robb-"

"I know we haven't been dating very long-"

"Robb-"

"I'm an idiot!"

"Robb-"

"Seriously, delete the chat. That was so awk-"

"Shut up, for one moment, and let me speak!"

"Oh! Yeah. Sorry."

"I love you too."

"You do?"

"Yes. Now hurry up and get over here. Jess and Rory are about to meet for the first time!"

_Fuck yes! She loves you too! You brilliant fool!_

"Right. Be right there."

"K."

"Jeyne?"

"Yes?"

"I love you."

"I know."

\----

 _Shit. Shit is spinning. Shit is spinning too fast._ Jon leans against his porch railing. _Stupid fool. Just because someone puts a shot in front of you, does not mean you need to drink it._

_'Waste not, want not' does not apply to liquor._

Keys. He pats down his jacket. No keys _._ He pats down his jean pockets. No keys. _Shit._

That's right. He gave them to Ygritte to hold on to…before he pissed her off.

Gnome it is.

There is no key under the gnome.

_Shit._

He tries the door. It's open.

_What idiot would forget to lock their door in Chicago?_

Theon. He's going to finally kick his scrawny ass tomorrow _. Wait_. It's his birthday. Well, it's not his birthday tomorrow. Stupid git.

_Shit is spinning._

He kicks his shoes off in the kitchen before fumbling for a glass of water. He downs it in one go. He eyes his shoes, guiltily. He picks them up and sets them on the mat by the door. He drinks another glass of water. It's 4 a.m. It's not Theon's birthday anymore. He's going to kick Theon's ass _today._

After he sleeps.

He is so ready to sleep. So…so…ready.

_But wait!_

There is a woman in his bed. Her red hair is splayed across his pillow.

Ygritte is in his bed.

 _Odd_ …but okay. _Very odd though…_

But why, again?

_Everything is spinning._

\----

She wakes up when the mattress shifts. _Wasn't Robb sleeping at Jeyne's?_

He groans, lying down beside her, and _holy gin._ He is drunk. He smells like dad's friend, Senator Baratheon, did at the fundraiser they attended last year.

"Yer here." He mumbles, scooting closer.

"And you're not wearing a shirt!"

"'Sss my bed."

"Whatever. Stay on your side."

"Mmmhhmm. Forgot…you don't cuddle." But an arm loops over her, and while it's certainly strange, she's too sleepy to protest and its actually kind of nice. "G'night."

"Goodnight."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know. Thought I'd try my hand at the sharing a bed trope.
> 
> Footnotes:  
> 1\. I watched the episode of [Parts Unknown](https://explorepartsunknown.com/destination/uruguay/) recently where Tony B. is in Uruguay and I felt that the South American country where weed is legal and they seem to like meat even more than the Midwest does, seems like a fitting place for the gang to vacation. (also, I really want to go once we can finally travel again)  
> 2\. [](https://imgflip.com/i/3tmld6)
> 
> 3\. [Midsomer Murders: 10 strangest deaths](https://screenrant.com/midsomer-murders-10-most-outrageous-murders-from-the-show/)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next morning...

_Me? Timothee Chalamet, you want to kiss little old me, up against this lemon tree? Che figata!_

_Ooh. And who is this behind me? Armie Hammer? You want to kiss me too?_

_Well, when in Rome…or whatever Italian town 'Call Me By Your Name_ 1'  _is set in…_

Sansa opens her eyes. Timmo Tay is sadly gone…replaced by a white wall; a very blank, white wall _. Why does she always wake up before the good part?_ But wait. A noticeably _hard_ body is still wrapped around her from behind, pressing her stomach into the mattress with the weight of him, one of his glorious thighs wedged between hers, _spreading…pushing_. _Oh_. He should not be wrapped around her. This is not a dream. She's at Robb's apartment. _Robb!_ He thrusts against her and _WTF, Robb!_ She peeks over her shoulder and spies dark hair…and darker stubble across his jaw, and thank god, it is not her brother. _Shit! It's not her brother!_

She freezes in a white-blind panic…and the thrusting stops. _Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god._ An hour passes. A century. Thirty seconds. Five. She turns her face again…ever so slightly. He's definitely not Robb. Also…he's not awake...she thinks. She hopes. She prays. She wishes their bodies weren't tangled together like one of Bran's stupid interlocking puzzles. She's never been any good at those.

_What to do? What to do? What to do?_

Slowly…so slowly that her calf muscle twitches, she starts shifting away, sliding one leg out from under his, trying to duck her head and shoulders under his arm like she's doing some intimate version of the limbo. She'll just slide down the wall like a demented inch-worm until she gets to the foot of the bed. Then she will high-tail it out of here and _never_ set foot in Robb's apartment again. She might not ever be able to see her brother again. She's going to have to transfer to like…Ohio State2 or something. Robb hates the Buckeyes.

She has just about got herself pressed against the wall, when that pesky arm wraps around her waist again and he hauls her back up against his bare chest like she weighs nothing at all.

"Where you sneaking off to? Hmm?" A hoarse, deep voice nuzzles against her hair, sending shockwaves down her spine. He is very warm...and still _very_ hard _._ "Your hair smells good." 

_Ring the alarm! Ring the alarm!_ Sansa is going to turn into one of those urban legends about spontaneous combustion. She is going to die. Her heart is going to beat out of her throat and fling itself across the room. The man, Theon maybe? _(the one Robb warned her would try and get in her pants_ ), is still rubbing his face in her hair….and his hand brushes lightly over her t-shirt and across her breasts. Her body betrays her and squirms. She is going to die.

"Mmm," Jon sighs, practically inhaling Ygritte's hair. She seriously smells so good. She never smells this good. Like, she doesn't smell bad…but she must have changed her shampoo or something. "I'm glad you came," he mumbles into her neck. _Why did she come?_ His temple throbs. He drank way too much last night. His mouth tastes like cotton. Didn't they break up? She squirms again and his cock twitches. _Fuck it_. Who cares if they broke up? She must not, if she snuck into his bed last night in only a t-shirt and panties. She never comes to his place. She was already here when he got home though, _wasn't she?_

He flicks her nipple and she makes a delightfully feminine squeak. 

She smells so good, and when he opens one bleary eye, he marvels at how rich and dark her hair looks against her pale neck. She must have dyed it. It's usually more of an orange color, isn't it? He should pay more attention to these things. That's part of the reason they broke up, right? His lack of attention.

She still hasn't said anything, which is kind of strange. Ygritte is not usually passive or coy in bed…but he is not complaining. Maybe she'll let him set the pace for once.

He glances down between their bodies. Her t-shirt (his t-shirt?) has ridden up her back, revealing bright floral underwear that's wedged between her creamy cheeks. Hmm…he'll fix that for her. As he drags his hand down across her stomach, he can feel her breath catch and her body tense. He brushes his fingertips over her hip bone and she squirms again.

"Since when are you so ticklish?" He grins into her neck. Her face is craned away, or he'd catch her ear with his lips. He makes do with the stretch of real estate where her shoulder meets her neck, nipping at the faint freckles misted across her skin. She lets out the shuddered breath she's been holding as he runs the flat of his nail down her ass cheek, slowly along the edge of the fabric, before curling his finger underneath and snapping her panties back into place with a satisfying _thwip_. She yelps, and suddenly she is jerking upright, scrambling out of the bed, and _holy fuck, she is not Ygritte!_

She is some sort of clumsy gazelle-like creature with long legs and a cascade of auburn hair that obscures most of her very crimson face as she practically falls off the foot of his bed and scampers out of his room, the sheet trailing behind her, before he has a chance to do anything besides yell out, "what the fuck!?"

Sansa is actually blind as she flies out of the bedroom, slamming her toes into the doorway with a shriek before she runs across the living space like some creepy basement bug scrambling for a crack in the floor, to escape in, when the lights turn on. She runs to the first door she finds, and it’s the bare mattress bedroom with the guitars. Luckily empty, but still, _Abort! Abort!_

She rushes into the other bedroom and slams the door behind her just as she hears the panty snapper, himself, step into the hallway with another muttered curse. She slides against the door, her heart racing. She can hear her blood pumping through her veins. She is going to die. Dying would be the best-case scenario right now. She is mortified. Beyond mortified…it is an embarrassment verging on terror. She is also shockingly aroused, as evidenced by the embarrassing slickness between her legs that only adds to the mortification and the terror. She is _literally_ going to die.

_What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck._ Jon's head is pounding; a) from his hangover and b) from the adrenaline running roughshod through his veins as he realizes that he just molested a total stranger. Who the fuck was she? And why was she in his bed? And where did she go? He steps into the hall and then curses when he realizes he's only wearing his boxer briefs; a completely unsuitable state of dress for the task of hunting down a possible break-in suspect/victim in a non-threatening way.

He turns back into his bedroom and notices the unfamiliar laptop and cellphone, both charging on his desk. There is also a puddle of clothes that do not belong to him in front of his dresser. He picks up the pair of jeans, and finds lip gloss and a set of keys in the front pocket…the keys that belong under the gnome. A vague memory of wanting to beat Theon's ass, comes to mind. 

Theon will give him another excuse, soon enough. 

He ventures back into the hall in sweatpants and a fresh shirt. There are a pair of white tennis shoes lined up neatly on the mat beside his own scuffed up Vans. If she left the apartment, she is without shoes and a cell phone. Unlikely. His phone vibrates on the kitchen island, where he must have left it last night. New message alert. From Val. The roommate group thread between Robb, Theon and himself is also bolded in the app. As is his thread with Ygritte.

Val First:

**Val 7:30 a.m.** I know you are probably still sleeping, seeing as you drank your weight in tequila last night, but text me if you want to get lunch and study today.

 **Val 7:35 a.m**. Also text me so that I know you made it home fine. Pyp and Grenn promised to get you in a cab

but…they are less than reliable at the best of times…and also consumed large quantities of tequila last night

He stares at the screen, his mind a bit blank, but then there is a shuffling behind Robb's door, and _holy hell._ What is he supposed to do now? Does he call the police? That seems…dramatic. And who would he be calling them on? Himself or her? He approaches the door, slowly, before knocking, very softly.

He might as well have hit the damn thing with a baseball bat, the way she seems to dive in front of it with a thud, yelling out in a high voice, "Don't come in!"

_Is she actually trying to block his entry with her body?_ He got a decent look at her (and a better feel)…she was tall, but…he shakes himself. He's not going to force the door open on her. Jesus Christ. What the hell is happening here?

His phone buzzes.

**Val 7:36 a.m.** And don't worry about Yiggy (sp?). She was too combative for you.

_Says a fellow first-year law student_. He flicks to the roommate thread.

**Robb Yesterday 6:45 PM:** I have to finish this paper or Professor Hightower is going to have my ass. Can't make dinner. SRRY. I'll meet up with you guys at the bar. Happy B-day Theon!

 **Theon Yesterday 8:00 PM:** I'm going to have your ass if you don't come out for my birthday, Robb! Motherfucker.

 **Robb Yesterday 10:30 PM:** So…this shit is taking way longer than I expected. Still planning to meet you at the bar though, so don't read me the riot act T

On another note, my little sister needs a respite from the hell that is a freshman dorm. I told her she could crash in my room tonight since I'll prolly be at J's

 **Robb Yesterday 10:35 PM:** Theon, leave her alone

I mean it

I will end you

I don't care if it's your birthday

 **Robb Yesterday 10:50 PM:** Jon, make sure Theon leaves her alone. Sansa said she had to write a paper, so you probably won't even cross paths.

 **Theon 1:32 AM:** WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU STARK?!

 **Theon 2:30 AM:** RobbRobbRobbRobbRobbRobbRobb We're going to Carol’s3

4 AM BAR BABYYYYYY

 **Theon 3:04 AM:** I HATE U

 **Theon 3:34 AM:** JK

 **Theon 3:35 AM:** I LOVE U…EVN JON.

_What is happening?_ Dude knocked like four minutes ago, and like a total psycho, Sansa launched herself against the door as if he were about to bust in with a SWAT team while her partner in crime is busy flushing drugs down a toilet. Except, she has no partner in crime. She is the sole idiot responsible for stealing the poor guys t-shirt and sleeping in his bed like a half-dressed modern day goldilocks and she can't even use drugs as an excuse. She is stone-cold sober.

In the minutes since she made her oh-so-very graceful escape, she has come to the conclusion that she pegged the wrong room as Robb's. She is currently staring at her brother's very familiar Addidas (the one's Rickon decorated with a permanent marker) wedged under the desk…and that's his Badgers4 sweatshirt wadded in a ball in the corner. Robb has always been a slob. College did not change that. He is the one with the scattered coffee cups and cigarettes. Her brother smokes. She was so certain that he didn't, but how the hell would she know? It's not like he's going to whip out an American Spirit5 in front of Mom and Dad. _Idiot! Idiot! Idiot!_

_What is happening outside of the door?_ The guy is still standing there. She can see his feet if she bends down and peeks beneath the crack…This isn't some kind of pyscho-sexual thriller where he's holding a kitchen knife on the other side. Is it? He's probably more confused and scared than she is…well maybe not as scared. I mean, he had to have seen what a klutzy idiot she is, stubbing her toe on his doorway on her way out the door. It's still throbbing. But still, _why hasn't he said anything?_

Just as she's sure she's going to lose her mind, he knocks again. Again softly, but she still jumps like a shotgun went off.

"Umm…who is it?" She says in a sing-song voice, like it's her mom on the other side, waiting to grab the dirty laundry from her room, and not the guy whose bedroom she broke into. _Sansa, is this the best you can do? What is WRONG WITH YOU?_ He must think she is insane, because she's pretty sure he's trying to hide his laugh by clearing his throat.

"Ah. Jon Snow. Um, I think we met once before…that is, if you are who I think you are." His voice is very rough and low, and it hits her at the base of her spine, where it's still pressed against the door. Who does he think she is? Who did he think she was when he was pressing kisses to her shoulder and playing with her breasts? _He flicked her nipple_! She is going to die. "Um," he clears his throat again, "Look. I'm really sorry. So, so sorry. I hope that I can make that clear." _He's_ sorry? Huh. "I, uh, think I'm piecing together what happened here…and um, I think there has been a bit of confusion…"

_A bit. A BIT?_ She is going to die.

"So…um, I'm just going to like, tell you what I think happened, and um, feel free to jump in if I have it wrong-" He pauses, as if she's going to say something. SHE IS OBVIOUSLY NOT. She cannot be trusted with words. Duh. "-or not. I mean, you don't have to say anything, I guess." He mutters something, under his breath, that sounds like _shit._ It's followed by something that sounds like _fuck_. Good. They are on the same page so far. "Okay, so it was our roommate, Theon's birthday last night, and I got pretty drunk…and I didn't look at my phone all night, apparently, so I missed the text from Robb saying that his sister was sleeping over-"

Should she just jump out of the window now? I mean…It's a third story walk-up. There has got to be like a drain-pipe or something. If she were Arya, she'd have totally already escaped down it. Arya wouldn't even care about having no pants, or no shoes, or no phone…or no dignity. She should be more like Arya. This might be the first time she has ever felt that way. If she survives this, she is going to call her sister and tell her how much she appreciates her wildly inappropriate ways. Or at least text her.

"-so, I know I said you didn't have to say anything, but like…could you maybe knock once or something if you _are_ Robb's sister..." _Oh my god. He's been waiting for a response._

"I am she," she squeaks out. _I am she? I AM SHE?_ She cannot be trusted with words. Robb was correct. She is a baby giraffe.

"Okay…okay. Good. I mean, not good…but-" Another muttered _fuck,_ and then he just spits it all out. "Look, I think you mistook my room for Robb's, which is totally fair, don't get me wrong. Like, we are in the same graduate program and I think the sheets on my bed are actually his…I bought the wrong size, so like, totally understandable mix-up, and…I got really drunk last night, and my girlfriend, I mean, my ex-girlfriend has red hair."

_What?_

"And _shit,_ I'm saying 'like' a lot. Like an idiot. Look, I'm _really, really_ sorry for feeling you up. I thought you were my ex…I don't know why. We broke up. Plus, her hair is more of an orange, where yours is this deep golden, red color and smells fantastic and she would never just show up to my apartment so I should have _definitely_ realized that you were not her, long before I got so fucking handsy with you. Like, the fact that I didn't recognize that is probably part of the reason we broke up…but, the point is I’m _really_ sorry. If you want to file a report or tell your brother or your parents or a therapist or _anyone_ …please, _please_ do so."

Sansa cannot be trusted with words. Words won't come. She is a mindless idiot.

"So, um, in conclusion. I'm going to leave now. I'm very hungover and frankly, a mess. I'm going to go to the diner around the corner, Sal's. Your stuff is all still in my room. Take all the time you need to do whatever you need. Um. I will not come back for a while and you can lock the top deadbolt if you don't trust that. None of us have the key. Theon will likely be at Ros's all day and go straight to work from her place. I don't know about Robb." He pauses again, and she should really say something. "Again, I'm really sorry, Sansa. I feel like a total creep. I really hope I didn't fuck your shit up in your first semester of college. You do not deserve that. No one deserves that."

She listens to him walk away, her breath still caught in her throat. A few minutes later, the front door closes, and when she's finally alone, cognitive functioning returns.

_Robb told her that she's not Jon's type_

_Liar_

_He likes redheads…and he said her hair smells fantastic_

_(He also thinks he molested her…and he's probably going to tell Robb, because he seems like a pretty fucking stand-up guy like that…and if that happens, she's definitely going to have to transfer to Ohio State, and that would be a real shame, because she also hates the Buckeyes.)_

She has to find him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BLAH.  
> I don't know what this is.  
> But it is DAMN fun to write. 
> 
> Also, all the lovely comments on the first chapter were so amazing. You are all lovely. Thank you!  
> Also, soliciting ideas about how Jeyne and Sansa might already know each other...I haven't thought that far.  
> I haven't really thought much beyond each sentence as I write it.  
> I don't know what this is.
> 
> P.S. No offence to Ohio State fans...:)
> 
> Footnotes:  
> 1\. So, I’m obsessed with Armie Hammer’s thighs (I tried to include a link but it isn't working, so just do yourself a favor and google Armie Hammer's thighs. You won't regret it):  
> 2\. Everyone in Michigan (and most everyone in Wisconsin) hates Ohio State. My parents are from Michigan, so I guess its hereditary. Again, no offence to Ohio State fans 😊  
> 3\. "What has two hundred arms, two hundred legs and seven teeth? That would be the Friday night crowd at [Carol's](%E2%80%9D)."– Shecky's Bar, Club & Lounge Guide 2002  
> 4\. Bucky Badger is the mascot of Wisconsin’s flagship university: University of Wisconsin – Madison. Doesn’t matter if you are a UW grad or not. If you have lived in Wisconsin for a while, you probably have some badgers gear.  
> 5\. The preferred tobacco brand of American hipsters…at least back when I was an American hipster and occasional smoker. Who knows what the kids are up to these days? Because I don’t.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A proper introduction...

Jon stares at his locked screen, rapping his knuckles against the Formica tabletop. He may be the first person to take a walk of shame out of his own apartment instead of into it. He didn't even have the sense to swallow some ibuprofen, attempt to tame his hair, or put on proper pants before he ran out the door. Val would give him serious side-eye for wearing sweatpants anywhere besides the bike path or the gym…and the girl behind the door better be Robb's sister. She has to be, right? Should he tell Robb? _Ugh…_ he really doesn't want to tell Robb.

He unlocks his phone. No need to touch the Ygritte thread yet…he needs about two more cups of coffee and a great deal more distance from the train wreck that just occurred in his apartment, before he's ready to see what she has to say about anything.

**Val 7:34 AM** : And don't worry about Yiggy (sp?). She was too combative for you.

This he can handle.

**Jon 8:20 AM:** You know what her name is

And I'm not worried

About her

 **Val 8:21 AM:** How are you awake already? I didn't expect a reply until at least noon.

 **Jon 8:22 AM:** It's been a weird morning

 **Val 8:23 AM:** What happened?

Theon try and sleep with you?

 **Jon 8:23 AM:** What do you know about sexual assault laws?

**Val 8:24 AM: 👀**

_Did_ Theon try and sleep with you????

 **Jon 8:32 AM:** God no

I'm asking in an academic sense

 **Val 8:33 AM:** Dude, I'm just trying to make it through our contracts midterm. How do you have bandwidth for anything else? I didn't think you were interested in criminal law.

 **Jon 8:35 AM:** I'm not

Nevermind

 **Val 8:36 AM:** I'm pretty sure the dude always gets off though

so, you know, if you want to pay off your student loans fast, consider defending rich pervy slime balls

Though, it may rot your soul

And I may never talk to you again 😘

 **Jon 8:37 AM:** I said nevermind

As the product of statutory rape, I'm a bit disinclined to defend accused sexual predators

 **Val 8:39 AM:** Oh yeah…that small nugget

How is your mom btw? I could seriously go for some Lyanna monkey bread right now

 **Jon 8:40 AM:** I'd kill for my mom's monkeybread right now

I'm very hung over

She's good

Busy

Market season is finally winding down, so maybe we can finagle some 🐵🍞 out of her soon

Study around 3? I'll need to take a nap before my brain can resume normal functioning

 **Val 8:41 AM:** Drink a bloody Mary

 **Jon 8:41 AM:** I'm about to dig into some chilaquiles at Sal's

That'll do.

 **Val 8:42 AM:** Azul 18's1 are better

 **Jon 8:42 AM:** No shit? A restaurant in Pilsen makes better chilaquiles than the hole-in-the wall diner owned by an old Croatian dude in Uptown?

Who knew?

 **Val 8:44 AM:** Cranky cranky. I'm going on a run now

So stop texting me

I don't need the notifications interrupting my playlist

My place at 3

 **Jon 8:45 AM:** I might come earlier

Aforementioned nap might need to happen on your couch

 **Val 8:46 AM:** Do I want to know?

 **Jon 8:47 AM:** Definitely not

She stares at him from behind the dusty faux fiddle leaf tree next to the host stand. After he left, she stalked her brother's facebook and insta accounts, but apparently Mr. Panty Snapper is too cool for social media. Still, thanks to all the over-sharers in his orbit and through the process of elimination and an assist from a grainy, red-eyed photo from three years ago where he was actually tagged, she is ninety seven percent confident that the wild-haired guy with a very appealing five o' clock shadow and plate of nachos in front of him, is in fact, Jon Snow.

And she is seventy percent ready to face him.

After he left, and before the social media stalking, she spent a frenzied twenty minutes getting dressed (Pants? Check. Bra? Check. A shirt procured through the proper channels? Check.) and preparing herself in front of the mirror in the bathroom. Fun fact of the day: Three grown men keep a bathroom that is somehow more disgusting than the one forty teenagers share on her dorm floor. Apparently the big bucks her parents are shelling out at least partially go towards cleaning staff. Still, her face is clean. Her hair is brushed. Her favorite lip gloss is freshly applied, and she has two objectives.

  1. Swear Jon Snow to secrecy over what went down in the apartment this morning. Robb _cannot_ find out.
  2. Let him off the hook for any guilt he's feeling over possibly molesting her. Now that she is presentable and has emerged from the tidal wave of embarrassment that clouded her earlier judgement, she does not feel violated in any way. And she would know. She has experience feeling violated. (But no need to dwell on that now. That is why she has a therapist).



She's not quite sure how she's going to tackle her two objectives, but she still has a paper to write before four p.m. so there's no time like the present to learn how to strategize on the fly. Plus, he still hasn't tucked into his nachos. He's just staring down at his coffee mug like he ran over a kitten or something. She must put him out of his misery.

Jon is staring at the dregs of his coffee…feeling like he just ran over a kitten. He should have either drank way less last night or maybe a little more. Now, he's not sick enough to throw up, but too lethargic to make any meaningful moves. So focused is he on the banalities of his hangover, he doesn't even notice the person approaching until she is sliding into the bench seat across from him, and _holy hell,_ this must be his little t-shirt stealing, bed-sharing, toe-stubbing terror from last night. A fresh-faced, blue eyed nymph is staring back at him with saucer eyes, chewing her bottom lip…and _fuck_. If he believed in hell, they'd surely be readying a cell for him now, for she is very beautiful and all feelings of contrition and guilt are being heavily overshadowed by a rather fervent pulse of attraction.

"Ah…hello," he coughs.

She stares back.

_Goddamit_ , if she plays mute again, and he is not only forced to carry the conversation but also look her in the eye and try not to fixate on the way she's biting her bottom lip, he might be the one making the harried escape this time. And he's too hungover for that.

"Hi." _She speaks!_ "I'm Sansa, Robb's sister." _You may not remember me, but I'm the girl that you manhandled, oh an hour or so ago, who was so traumatized by it, I had to barricade myself in my brother's room rather than face you. That Sansa. Robb's sister._ Robb is going to kill him, and that is how he's going to end up in the hell that he totally doesn't believe in but definitely deserves.

"Hi Sansa." _Don't be an asshole. Don't be an asshole. Think of something to say where you don't sound like an asshole._

"I don't want you to feel like a creep." _Oh. Well, that is good._ Though, her wants and his feelings are mutually exclusive, but please attempt to make him feel like a not-creep. _Please._ He is silently begging her to put him out of his misery. "Um, you said you felt like one…earlier. And, I just want to make it very clear, that I do not think you are a creep. It was just a mix-up. A bit of confusion. That's all." She recites his words back to him with an airy nonchalance and a shy smile.

An old book of Val's comes to mind.

When they were about twelve, Val became very interested in the occult; tarot cards, astrology, the fae…she had a book of everyday faeries that she was constantly consulting to explain her and Jon's many misfortunes. This hobgoblin looks like a potato and will chew through your shoelaces if you don't leave three (its always three) sprigs of thyme in your windowsill. This will-o'-the-wisp only takes material form near sunset. Best to put your headphones on or you'll be led astray by his hypnotizing dancehall beats, making you late for dinner with no mom-accepted excuse. The girl sitting across from him, could be cataloged in Val's book. This fair sidhe will sneak into your bed, bewitch your body and befuddle your mind, and then turn out to be your best friend's little sister who is definitely too young for you and completely off limits. Should have left those sprigs on your windowsill, asshole.

"Well, thanks."

"I should have realized which room was Robb's. I didn't know he smokes."

"Well, I should have realized that you weren't my ex-girlfriend." He sighs. In the light of day, she and Ygritte bear very little resemblance to one another. One of Sal's weird crystal prisms spins above them and a rainbow flits across Sansa's face. She is literal rainbows and sunshine. Ygritte is angry eyes and _You know nothing, Jon Snow._ "I'm _really_ sorry that I…uh…accosted you."

She scrunches her nose. "I know. You've made that clear. Don't stress about it. And…outside the context of being shocked, embarrassed, and confused…I didn't hate it."

_What?_

_What?_

_She didn't hate it?_ Letting slip, to the cute dude across the counter, that she didn't hate his accidental handsy ministrations was NOT ONE OF SANSA'S OBJECTIVES. You can't introduce a new line of thought half-way through your essay, Miss Stark. Hurry. Change the subject!

"Are you eating nachos for breakfast?"

He coughs, before quickly raising the empty mug to his lips, buying time. She has freaked him out again. She is a disaster. He clears his throat. "As you have forgiven me, I will let that little faux pas slide. Chilaquiles2 are so much more than nachos…" _Oh, thank god. He has accepted the subject change. He is a very kind soul._

"How so?" She pokes at what very much looks like a tortilla chip, laden with toppings that very much look like nacho toppings…plus an egg. Instead of answering her question, he reaches over to the empty table beside them, grabbing a roll of silverware which he tosses her way as he pushes his plate closer.

"Well, you eat them with a fork…and they taste better." He smiles at her now, and her mind goes a bit blank. "Go on. What do you drink?"

"Excuse me?" _He unleashes that hot guy smile on her, and expects her to reciprocate with language?_

"Coffee? Tea? OJ?" He prods.

"Grapefruit juice?"

"Sal!" He motions to the very stooped, very cute old man behind counter. "Can I get a grapefruit juice! And more coffee?"

"Oh! Um, you don't have to do that! Um, I should go. I have a paper-"

"Please stay!" He looks back at her, and _oh, those eyes…_ "You say all is forgiven, but humor me, and let me at least feed you…as restitution." She rolls her eyes. _Law student language._ "Plus, you'll write better on a full stomach."

"Fine." She bites into the not-nachos and… _these are much better than nachos._

She gives a little moan of delight, and there's a bit of cilantro stuck to her lip, and he spits out the stupidest comment of all time.

"A chilaquiles virgin no longer."

_What the fuck is wrong with you, Snow?_ Though, now she is blushing, and it's a very pleasing aesthetic. Still, what the fuck are either of them supposed to say now?

"Jonny boy. Your hair." Sal, coming in with the save. And coffee. And grapefruit juice. And a distraction from Jon's idiocy.

"Yeah, yeah. I know it's a mess. How are you Sal?"

Sal shakes his head, sloshing the very full coffee pot way too near Jon's head. "This is not good, Jonny. How are you supposed to make your mama happy and find a nice girl, looking like this?" Sal turns to Sansa, winking. "You look like a nice girl. Don't put up with this." The coffee is very close to spilling on him and Sansa giggles. "It's not good. You find yourself a nice boy with a nice haircut, yes?"

She laughs again, "I like his hair."

"Ugh! Young people. There is no hope." Sal shuffles away, still muttering under his breath and Sansa is still laughing, her eyes shining back at Jon. Rainbows. Sunshine. Soft skin and very perky nipples. Robb's little sister. He is too hungover for this.

"Okay, Giggle McDimples3, what do you think of the chilaquiles? They are a Chicago brunch staple."

She arches a brow. "Giggle McDimples?" She takes another bite. "I see you are real cinephile, breaking out the Toy Story 4 references." Is that a hint of wit? This is not good.

"Yeah, well Val and I took her nephew not that long ago."

Her smile fades. "Is that the ex? Val?"

"Ah, no. Val's just a friend. We grew up together, and she's in the same year at Pritzker as Robb and I."

"Yeah, I think I've heard Robb mention her. Speaking of my brother," she starts _. Which brother? The one who is going to bury Jon when he find out what happened? That brother?_ "Can we, maybe, keep what happened back at the apartment to ourselves?" _Yes, yes! A thousand times yes!_

He coughs again. "Um, yeah. If that's what you want." _Of course that's what she wants!_ Why would she want her brother to know that Jon Snow flicked her nipple? She's not a total psychopath.

"That is definitely what I want."

He smiles again, and she detects a hint of relief. "Then, say no more. Keeping it from Robb is definitely a matter of self-preservation on my part, but that shouldn't stop you from telling him, or anyone, if you change your mind."

He is very sweet.

"I don't think I'll change my mind, but thank you." This is going surprisingly well. It seems she has achieved both of her objectives and here comes that sweet old man with a slice of what looks like lemon meringue pie, and he is placing it in front of her.

"Something sweet for a sweet girl." He winks, again.

"Thanks, Sal." Jon says, and the old man swats at him with a bar towel.

"For her. Not for you, you scraggly haired pouf!"

Jon coughs again. "Sal, you can't go around calling people poufs. Not kosher."

"I don’t keep kosher. And also, why? Your hair is poofy. I call you poof."

Sansa laughs again, and Jon shakes his poofy head, ruefully. "Ah, got it. Well, I promise that I will do something about my poofy hair before I cross your threshold again."

"Good. Just a brush and little pomade or something, yes? No need to cut it short like some Wall Street cocksucker."

Jon and Sansa both break into laughter now, and this may be the nicest time she's had since moving to the city. If college in Chicago is sunny brunches where you eat not-nachos and pie with cute men who get teased by cuter old men, she is very happy she decided to enroll at Loyola at the last minute. Even if it involves bunking with Lollys for a year. 

The pie is delicious, and after Sal turns his back, she even let’s Jon sneak a few bites.

“But only a few. Lemon is my favorite, and this breakfast is my restitution, after all.” Though the more she stares at him, the less she understands what she requires restitution for. Girl should have pretended to be his ex a little longer, she thinks. Well obviously she shouldn’t have. That would have been very wrong, but...it would have felt nice, _right_?

“Right.” He looks like he may be thinking the same thing. _Is he thinking the same thing?!_ No, you dummy. Keep up. He's still talking about pie as restitution. Not secret-identity panty-snapping, _you idiot_. 

“So, normally I’d launder any borrowed items of clothing, but I wasn’t sure of the correct etiquette in this situation. I erred on the side of you never wanting to see me again, so umm…I left your t-shirt on your bed.” _Launder?_ What is she, some wench from the Middle Ages?

“I want to see you again.”

_Whelp._ “You do?”

“I mean, like, you don’t need to avoid your brother’s apartment because of an awkward run-in with his dumb, drunk roommate…is all I’m saying.” He palms the back of his neck. _Nice save Jonny boy._ You can’t tell Robb’s little sister that you want to see her again…even if it’s true. _Idiot._

“Cool, well I really do have a paper to write-“ Her face has fallen, and she suddenly does not look like things are _cool._ He really is an idiot.

“Though, if you ever find yourself at the apartment again, and want to watch me get shamed by Sal, and eat free pie and chilaquiles…” _What is he doing?_ She is Robb’s little sister and isn’t she like, a freshman? So, that makes her what? 18? 19 at best? The fall of Jon’s freshman year, the only breasts he’d ever seen were Val’s, the night they went skinny-dipping in Lake Michigan after graduation. She caught him gaping at her, slack-jawed, and gave him shit about it for weeks. Sansa is ‘slack jawed at the sight of boobs’ years old. I mean, not that _she’d_ be slack jawed at the sight of them. She has a pair after all. She’s probably gotten pretty used to them by now…and just because he learned nothing about sex until after his nineteenth birthday, does not mean he can apply his own experiences onto her…but _no,_ there is still a wealth of difference between what you know at eighteen/nineteen and what you know that you don’t know going on twenty-four. _Right?_

She’s beaming at him. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you, Jon Snow.” And before he can figure out what that smile means or what ' _I didn’t hate it'_ meant, she is sliding out of the booth and back into the sunshine, where she belongs.

He really needs to take a nap.

“Sal! The check please!”

“You're paying for the pie, Jonny boy!”

“I know. I know.” He has a feeling that he's going to be paying for a lot. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, my pretties, let's do this. 
> 
> I really wasn't planning on making this a proper story when I wrote the first two chapters. I was just feeling tired and wanted to make myself laugh a bit. 
> 
> But, since others seem to be enjoying these two idiots, and as I am enjoying them as well, I'm going to continue. Thank you for all of the comments and kudos! I love it. They make me so happy. So I hope you enjoy the happy little breakfast scene between Jon and Sansa. 
> 
> Notes: I know NOTHING about law school...so keep that in mind. I know some things about Chicago, but I'm not trying overly hard to be realistic or faithful to logistics/physics/geography/time or space. And as this fic is only tangentially related to the actual ASOIAF universe, I'm not really paying special attention to any faithfulness there either. This is humorous wish-fulfillment with a dash of, a sprinkle, really, of realism...and likely, future smut.   
> < a href=”LINK URL GOES HERE” > LINK TEXT GOES HERE < /a >  
> 1\. [Azul 18](https://www.azul18chicago.com/) is a restaurant in Pilsen...that has really good chilaquiles  
> 2\. [Chilaquiles](https://www.chowhound.com/food-news/166339/11-reasons-why-chilaquiles-are-the-world-s-greatest-food/)...are the best brunch food, especially after a night of drinking, and they can be found on pretty much every brunch menu in chicago these days, regardless of the restaurant's cuisine.   
> 3\. Giggle McDimples - What can I say? I have a four year old. We were watching a lot of Toy Story 4 this summer.


	4. Chapter 4

**Group Message: Roomies**

**Members:** Robb Stark, Theon Greyjoy, Jon Snow

==========

**Robb Stark 4:30 PM:** Everything cool when my sister slept over, right? Theon left her alone?

 **Theon Greyjoy 4:31 PM:** When did your sister sleep over?

 **Robb Stark 4:31 PM** : Your birthday

 **Robb Stark 4:45 PM:** ???

 **Theon Greyjoy 4:46 PM:** You really wanna bring up that night? The night you showed your true colors and abandoned the brotherhood?

You betrayed me to watch British murder mysteries with your cougar girlfriend!

Fuck off Robb

I'm never going to turn 23 ever again

Also that was days ago

Why are you asking now?

 **Robb Stark 4:50 PM:** A) Jeyne is four years older than me. Hardly cougar material

B) My parents are coming up this weekend. Remember? Roommate dinner on Friday? It'd be good to have a heads up if Catelyn Stark is going to castrate you with her steak knife or not

C) I'll make it up to you on your 24th birthday. Vegas?

 **Theon Greyjoy 4:52 PM:** A) I didn't even see your sister. I slept at Ros's that night.

B) You think I'm stupid enough to jeopardize roommate dinner with Mama and Papa Bear Stark? Shit man, this is my 3rd year running. I'm out to earn me a 5-timers jacket

C) FUCK YEAH VEGAS

🍾👯⛲🌆🧳🎰🎲

 **Theon Greyjoy 4:55 PM:** B2) Don't say we aren't going to live together in 2 years

I'll fucking move in with you and Jeyne

She cool like that

 **Theon Greyjoy 5:00 PM:** Also Jon…you are on this thread. Don't make me carry the conversation you silent fucker

 **Jon Snow 5:20 PM:** I'm working Friday night

 **Robb Stark 5:21 PM:** Dude, you have to come to roommate dinner

My parents insist

They’re taking us to some fancy steak house in River North

I know you live off vending machines, staff meal, and coffee 

**Jon Snow 5:23 PM:** Well you should have given me more than two days' notice. I can't just bail on a Friday night bar shift

 **Robb Stark 5:24 PM:** Isn't Mance practically family?

 **Jon Snow 5:25 PM:** He is Val's brother-in-law

Contrary to popular belief, Val and I are not actually related

 **Theon Greyjoy 5:26 PM:** Yeah…that'd be totes inappropro seeing as they've hooked up before

 **Robb Stark 5:26 PM:** Still…it's not like he's going to say no if you ask for the night off…

 **Jon Snow 5:28 PM:** That is exactly what he's going to do

And that was ages ago Theon

Fuck off

**Private WhatsApp Conversation**

**Resumed by:** Robb Stark on 23rd October, 5:30 p.m.

 **Members:** Robb Stark, Val(Holla!)

====

 **Robb:** Can you get Jon out of work on Friday?

 **Val(Holla!):** Why?

 **Robb:** My parents are coming into town for their annual 'roommate' dinner and Jon's trying to worm his way out of it 

**Val(Holla!):** What's in it for me?

 **Robb:** What do you want?

 **Val(Holla!):** Where are you going to dinner?

 **Robb:** Hold on, let me check

 **Robb:** Bavette's Bar and Boeuf

 **Val(Holla!):** K, I require a slice of their chocolate cream pie & you have to help me move the new couch I bought into my apartment

 **Robb:** Deal

 **Val(Holla!):** Is this the dinner where your parents meet Jeyne?

 **Robb:** No…it's the annual _roommate_ dinner. Jeyne is not my roommate

 **Val(Holla!):** So when are they meeting her?

 **Robb** : Stay in your lane, Val

Get Jon off work

**Val(Holla!): 🙄**

This why I would never date any of you

You are all cowards

 **Robb:** Yes, we all know your standards are too high for us losers

That’s why you spend so much time with us

Also, didn't you date Jon?

 **Val(Holla!):** That's just a matter of circumstance (spending time with you)

And that was ages ago (dating Jon)

Jon's phone buzzes, and Miss Constitutional Law at two o'clock is about to hit him in the head with her copy of Feldman and Sullivan's twentieth edition. "Can you watch my stuff for a minute?" He chooses to interpret her answering glare as a non-binding, non-verbal agreement, before he slides out of his chair and exits to the library stairwell.

**Mance Rayder 6:15 PM:** You can have Friday night off if you come in early on Saturday and help me with inventory

 **Jon Snow 6:16 PM:** Okay

 **Jon Snow 6:17 PM:** Wait…did I do something to piss you off?

 **Mance Rayder 6:17 PM:** No, why?

 **Jon Snow 6:18 PM:** Well, you're cutting my shift when I didn't ask you to

 **Mance Rayder 6:18 PM:** Val told me you have an important dinner. So, no sweat. Just help me with inventory on Saturday, yeah?

 **Jon Snow 6:20 PM:** Yeah

**Group Message: Roomies**

**Members:** Robb Stark, Theon Greyjoy, Jon Snow

======

 **Jon Snow 6:22 PM:** WTF did you do, Robb?

 **Robb Stark 6:23 PM:** I know not what you are referring to

😇

Also, you still haven't answered my earlier question

" **Robb Stark 4:30 PM:** Everything cool when my sister slept over, right? Theon left her alone?”

 **Robb Stark 6:27 PM:**???

 **Jon Snow 6:28 PM:** Theon already said he slept at Ros's that night

 **Robb Stark 6:29 PM:** Yeah, but did you see Sansa? Was everything fine?

 **Jon Snow 6:30 PM:** Why wouldn't it have been?

 **Robb Stark 6:31 PM:** IDK…

 **Jon Snow 6:33 PM:** Have you asked her?

 **Robb Stark 6:34 PM:** Well…no

 **Jon Snow 6:35 PM:** I'm trying to write a paper right now, and I'm getting nasty looks every time my phone vibrates from the girl sharing a table with me

Ask your sister

It was fine on my end

Stop texting me

 **Robb Stark 6:36 PM:** What about dinner on Friday?

 **Jon Snow 6:37 PM:** You already know I'm coming

You meddlesome asshole

**Robb Stark 6:38 PM: 😘**

**Jon Snow 6:39 PM:** Stop texting me!

 **Theon Greyjoy 6:40 PM:** Snow, you in for Vegas?

 **Jon Snow 6:42 PM:** I give up. I'm turning off my phone

 **Theon Greyjoy 6:42 PM:** Jesus Christ

Does he not know how to silence his phone? How the fuck did he get into Northwestern?

I'm a himbo and I know how to silence my phone

 **Robb Stark 6:43 PM:** What is a himbo?

 **Robb Stark 6:45 PM** : Nevermind

Jeyne told me

She says that you are not a himbo, Theon

Sorry mate

 **Theon Greyjoy 6:46 PM:** I take back every kind thing I have ever said about Jeyne

**Robb Stark 6:47 PM: 🙄**

**Theon Greyjoy 6:50 PM:** But I still want to live with you two

And I want to be the godfather of your children

And I'm still on for Vegas 🤑

And Jeyne is still a cougar 🐆

 **Robb Stark: 6:55 PM:** I am also turning off my phone now

\--

The Rogers Park Planned Parenthood is a twenty-minute walk from Sansa's dorm and she enjoys the fresh air and the closest thing to solitude she's had all week. It doesn't offer the privacy she _really_ craves, but the cool fall breeze helps moderate the achy need that’s been magnified ever since she woke up in a certain someone's bed.

What was the point of treating herself to a nice vibrator as a graduation present if there is absolutely _nowhere_ that she can use it?

Lollys never leaves their room. Sansa has camped out all week (except for classes, and meals, and showers…and a much-needed trip to the salon with Margaery), trying to figure out her roommate's schedule, but the girl NEVER LEAVES. She is always there, lying on the bottom bunk, staring at her phone, quoting Goop articles and whatever other trendy pseudoscience she found on Buzzfeed that day. She's the Moaning Myrtle of Mertz Hall Room 1522, except instead of lamenting some boy who wronged her or the tragedy of her unsolved death, she soliloquizes about the dangers of free radicals and vaccines while fumigating their room with expensive sprays with nonsense names like "Psychic Vampire Repellent.” It may turn away blood-sucking immortals but it does absolutely nothing to hide the near constant stink of hard-boiled eggs. Who is she, _Gaston_? Sansa is as down with self-care as the next person, but she draws the line at throwing _actual_ science out with the mustard-scented bath oil.

Also, is it too much to ask for just fifteen minutes of privacy? That's all she needs. She's efficient.

Unfortunately, Sansa is S.O.L. _Ménage a moi_ in her own bed? Not likely. And she's not getting any action in the shower either. It's a bit hard to focus on finger painting when there always seems to be a girl puking in the stall next to her.

She's reaching a level of desperation where she’d actually consider titling her history midterm: 'Hysterical Paroxysm: Maybe the Victorians were on to something?'. 

_Just kidding._

And, as luck would have it, she's going to see the man responsible for her increased agitation; the newest addition to her small catalog of O-worthy fantasies and Mr. Poofy Haired Panty Snapper himself, tonight…at a dinner with her parents. Not that she's going to out him as the object of her sexual fantasies or anything…that would be totally awkward, right? He's attending as Robb's roommate, who Sansa _did not_ unwittingly share a bed with and who definitely did not flick her nipple. No siree. Nothing to see here, folks.

Fortunately, she has a few hours yet to get her dignity in place and there is nothing like the small crowd of anti-abortion picketers hanging out in front of the clinic, to act as a metaphorical bucket of cold water. Jeyne meets her a block away with two bubble teas in hand, so she doesn't have to cross the threshold alone.

"Hey girly! How are you?" Jeyne is unfazed, as always, as she breezes Sansa by the angry man, practically spitting at them as he calls them baby murderers. 

"Fine. Happy it's the weekend!" Sansa is getting better at ignoring them and matching the older woman’s energy. Meeting Jeyne may be the best part of moving to Chicago. Sansa started volunteering at the Roger's Park Planned Parenthood after her first week on campus and as luckiest coincidence would have it, Jeyne Westerling, Robb's girlfriend that he thinks is more of a secret than she is, and who he still hasn't introduced to the family, is one of the volunteer coordinators. When Sansa turned in the sign-up form, it was Jeyne who squealed in excitement, immediately asking if she was 'Robb Stark's little sister'; a moniker Sansa had thought she had escaped by moving to the big city, but alas it is not to be. She'll be 'Robb's little sister' until she's old and gray. Though, if that means meeting badass women like Jeyne, who is a pediatric nurse practitioner and an active pro-choice advocate, so be it. "What are we up to today?"

"Nothing too exciting. There's a mail campaign going out, so we'll be stuffing envelopes."

"Whatever helps. Someone has to do it, right?"

"That's the spirit." Once they are inside, Jeyne turns to give the picketers a cheeky wave. Sansa may never be _that_ brave. She wants to do more, but at this point, stuffing envelopes is just her speed.

Two bags of peanut M&M's and one thousand ready-to-mail envelopes later, she is salivating over the thought of the upcoming steak dinner. The clinic has been busy this afternoon, but she’s been tucked away in a back room, burning through their mailing list in her own personal Zen of pink highlighter, bubble tea and 19th amendment commemorative stamps.

Jeyne walks her out of the clinic once more. "Thanks again, Sansa. I promise I'll find something more interesting for you next week. In fact, I’m leading an education event at a youth center on Wednesday. Do you want to tag along and listen in?"

"Sure!" The thought of speaking in front of a room full of pre-teens and teenagers about sex terrifies Sansa, but it's also the whole reason she started volunteering here in the first place. Anything to subvert the dismal, non-existent education she received; her own anxieties be damned.

"Great, then it's a date."

"Great! See you tonight!"

"Tonight?” Jeyne looks confused. “Tonight, the only date I have is with D.C. Morse…but if you want to binge Endeavour with me and eat takeout from the Thai restaurant below my apartment, than you are more than welcome! Robb is busy with something so we don't even have to worry about breaking cover." She teases, and Sansa is an idiot. The _something_ Robb is busy with, is a dinner that Sansa assumed he had invited Jeyne to... _Foot. Mouth._

"Ah, right. I meant Wednesday." _Smooth recovery_. "I'm not sure what a D.C. Morse is, but it sounds fascinating. Unfortunately, I have a thing I have to go to tonight…" _Less smooth...stop talking now._

"Right, of course. Gods.” Jeyne looks pained. “You are young. Why would you want to spend your Friday night with an old lady, watching PBS Masterpiece Theater…I mean you are in your first semester of college! _"_ Jeyne waves a half-hearted fist in the air, and Sansa is ready to duck under the nearest manhole cover. "Go wild!"

“Yeah, it’s not like that-“ she tries, but Jeyne is practically shooing her away now.

“Have fun! The world is your oyster! Be off with you! Go break a few hearts for me!”

Sansa is going to kill Robb.

**Private WhatsApp Conversation**

**Resumed by:** Sansa Stark on 25th October, 5:02 PM

 **Members:** Sansa Stark, Robb Stark

==================================

**Sansa Stark:** You didn't invite Jeyne to dinner?

 **Robb Stark:** How do you know that?

 **Sansa Stark:** Well, did you?

 **Robb Stark:** No…

 **Sansa Stark:** Call it sisterly intuition then

You should invite her

 **Robb Stark:** What about "roommate dinner" is confusing people? You know mom and dad don't let us invite friends to these things. It's a slippery slope and then the bill would be outrageous, and while mom and dad have money…they don't have that kind of money

 **Sansa Stark:** You're comparing Jeyne to your idiot friends from college who had to be cut off at Fogo de Chao??? She's your _girlfriend_ , you dolt

 **Robb Stark:** Well, the reservation has already been made

 **Sansa Stark:** That is a really lame excuse

 **Robb Stark:** This is none of your business

 **Sansa Stark:** Look, I know I'm younger, but I am also a woman. Jeyne's feelings are going to be hurt if she finds out mom and dad were in town and you didn't introduce her to them

 **Robb Stark** : Don't use that word. 😱

 **Sansa Stark:** What word?

 **Robb Stark:** Woman

You are a baby llama

 **Sansa Stark:** I'm a grown-ass woman, Robb

Get over it.

 **Robb Stark:** Speaking of grown-a** women…

you know how mom is…

 **Sansa Stark:** Mom will love Jeyne

 **Robb Stark:** You don't know that. You haven't even met her

 **Sansa Stark:** Again…sisterly intuition

 **Robb Stark:** Mind your own business

 **Sansa Stark:** You’re making a mistake

 **Robb Stark:** I see Arya’s point now

 **Sansa Stark:**???

 **Robb Stark:** you are a bossy b****

 **Sansa Stark:** Robb!!!

Just because you add asterisks, does not make it OK to call your sister (or any woman) that word!!!!

 **Robb Stark:** See you at dinner tonight BB. 😘

By the time she’s returned to the dorms, Sansa is in a mood, and Lollys is…waving a burning twig around their room.

“Lollys, what the-“

“No! STOP!” Her roommate waves the smoking end at her, batting her long, maybe fake, eyelashes at Sansa, who has to scramble back into the hallway. Of course, there is a group of boys hanging outside, snickering at her. “Don’t bring that bad energy in here, Sansa. I’m doing a cleansing!”

"She's doing a cleansing!" The boys shout. It's Sansa's lucky day. She's acquired a Greek chorus.

“What?” She asks.

“It’s called _smudging!_ You’ve been spending so much time here, just stewing in negative energy. I had to do something about it. I'm trying to make this a judgment-free wellness space.” _Sansa’s_ been spending so much time here? _Sansa’s_ been stewing around in negative energy? "You really should get out more, Sansa. It's not good to hole up in here all the time."

The boys have come over, and are craning their heads in, joking about all the negative energy and the very prominent, very phallic, rose quartz crystal sitting on Lollys's desk. Sansa is going to lose her mind.

“Isn’t smudging supposed to be with sage?” One of the guys asks. “That doesn't look like sage.”

“Yeah, but I wanted to perform it with _native_ fauna. I’m not bringing that colonizing energy into this house.” Never mind that Lollys Stokeworth is a rich, white girl from Winnetka, whose ancestors probably came over on the Mayflower. Still, Sansa manages to reign in _most_ of her snark.

“Well,” she says, grabbing the stick and stuffing it in a half-full Starbucks frappe, before it sets off the sprinklers. “I'm just going to open a window, so the, ah, negative energy has a place to evacuate to. Don't want to commit any war crimes...against energy. Not that your efforts aren't appreciated, but that's probably enough…cleansing for one day, don't you think?” She flashes Lollys her brightest smile and chooses not to mention that the twig, that's clearly from the Ginkgo tree outside the front doors of Mertz Hall, also isn’t native to the Midwest. There is no point.

Lollys just smiles back at her, vacantly, before consulting her phone. "I'm doing this for you, Sansa. I know you've been having a hard time adjusting." The only thing Sansa is having a hard time adjusting to, is living with a hermit who touts fringe health practices that are often bastardizations of actual traditional practices belonging to other cultures, not her own, and who spends an inordinate amount of time gossiping about celebrities with her mother, _Tanda_ , on speakerphone.

"I can help you adjust," one of the guys wanders into their room with a smug grin on his handsome face, his Cubs hat askew. Sansa's eye twitches. She hates it here.

"Thanks, but I'm fine. Really."

"Nah, come on. We're going to Hamilton's later. You should come." He steps closer and Lollys mutters something about bad news coming in threes, _because why not?_

Before Sansa has to respond, the girl from next door pops in. "Leave her alone, Harry. Not everyone is defenseless against your charms." She winks at Sansa, her curly brown hair bouncing wildly behind her. "I'm Myranda, by the way. Sorry, I haven't introduced myself sooner. I'm not in my room much." She winks again.

"Way to introduce yourself with a nod to your slutty ways," Harry scoffs, but the very curvy, very pretty girl will not be shamed. 

"I'm not the one sticking my dick in all the spice bins at Mariano's." she snaps back, hand on hip.

"I sleep with one girl named Saffron, and you'll never let me live it down. At least she managed to stay conscious while we were making it."

"Ben has narcolepsy! It's a _medical condition_! And he'd stayed up all night, studying!" Myranda is dragging him out of the room now, "Hate to break it to you, but keeping a girl conscious is a pretty low bar to set. I'm sure the pretty red head here is ready to prostrate herself at your feet." She deepens her voice in a mocking impression, "'I'm Harry. I don't know what a clitoris is, but I promise to not rufey you'. What a ringing endorsement!"

"Shut up, Randa!"

"Make me!" She wiggles her hips, suggestively, and Harry swipes for her waist.

"Maybe I will," his voice dips and Myranda flashes Sansa one more wink before the two intruders back fully into the hall.

Sansa closes the door after them, just as Myranda teases, "And maybe, if I'm feeling generous, I'll give you an anatomy lesson!"

_At least someone is getting some action tonight,_ Sansa muses. When she turns around, Lollys is lighting a candle named 'This Smells Like My Vagina', and Sansa wonders if it would be more embarrassing to smell like a hard-boiled egg or a yeast infection in front of Jon Snow tonight.

_Is it too late for her to find out what a D.C. Morse is with Jeyne, instead?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I don't know...
> 
> I decided to reinterpret Lollys a bit. No, err, offence to Goop fans...
> 
> Do I need to tag pro-choice? I have no idea what is or isn't controversial anymore. And I'm bad at tags.
> 
> Family dinner with the Stark's coming up next. I have much of the chapter drafted so hopefully it'll be up soon (but I'm a horrible judge of my own writing timelines)


	5. Chapter 5

The drive to the restaurant is excruciating. What Robb had originally billed as a fun, free meal on a Friday night, is increasingly feeling like a court-ordered psych evaluation. Before they left, Robb ran around the apartment, frantically throwing out anything his parents might find remotely damning, just in case they decided to drop by, while vetoing every outfit Theon put on.

Now, Greyjoy sits beside Jon in an un-ironed shirt of Robb's that is too big for him, while Robb yells out the ground rules over their Uber driver's raging drum & bass that has clearly killed his speakers. "No swearing! No smoking! My dad is a ride-or-die Packers fan so don't mention the Bears! He likes the Hawks though, so there is common ground in hockey! Theon, if you get too drunk and hit on my mom again, I swear to god I'm going to push you in front of a bus."

"Fuck off, Robb! Cat loves me!"

" _Mrs. Stark_ tolerates you, and when she asks what you're doing with yourself, don't you dare tell her you’re a bike messenger…or a DJ!"

"But I am a bike messenger _and_ a DJ!"

"Tell her you're doing an internship in sound design."

They scramble out of the Ford Fusion, and it takes a few moments for the buzz of the cheap subwoofer to recede from Jon's veins. They've landed across the street from the Merchandise Mart and he's aware that they are about to eat a meal that costs more than his monthly grocery budget…probably much more.

"Um, any last words of advice?" he asks Robb, half joking until he sees the way his friend looks him over, critically.

"For you? No. Thank god Val shops for you. You're the best dressed of us. As long as you don't seduce my sister at the dinner table, you'll be fine."

_Well, shit._ "Val doesn't shop for me."

"No? Did you pick out that shirt then? With the flower print? And the--what is this? A knit tie?" Yes, it is a knit tie and Jon picked that out himself. The shirt? Well, Satin chose that. He said there is nothing sexier than a straight-ish guy confident enough to wear floral and Jon took him on his word. But that's none of Robb's business. Robb doesn't need to know Jon purposefully wore the only item of clothing he owns that has ever been described as sexy, to a dinner with Robb's parents and younger sister. He's not demented.

"What's wrong with a floral print?"

"Nothing. God. I'm just sick of Jeyne constantly ragging on me to dress more like you. Like, what's wrong with plaid?"

"You're such a Sconnie, Robb. Get your head out of the 90's. I swear Wisconsin is always two decades behind everywhere else." Theon pipes in.

"But I thought the 90's were in again?" Robb mutters, and Jon is happy to have the attention diverted away from himself. Between Robb fretting about his parents and the knowledge that he's about to see the object of every one of his recent late-night fantasies, Jon has worked himself into a silent panic. It's warm for October, and he's sweating beneath his bomber jacket (a piece that Val did, in fact, pick out), worrying that he misread the spark of chemistry he felt with Sansa, or that she's spent the last week loathing their incident. _What if she told her mom?_

Jon might be the one pushed in front of a bus tonight.

Just as an ambulance goes off on a nearby street, Robb leads the way past a deceivingly non-descript outer façade, and they're instantly transported to an earlier epoch. Bavette's is all dark wood paneling and low lighting. It's small and more intimate than Jon expected; more cabaret than traditional Italian white-linen steakhouse. Between Billie Holiday's voice rasping through the chatter of conversation and clinking glassware, and a drink list pulled straight from prohibition, scrawled in swirling script behind the bar, Jon half expects to see Johnny "The Fox" Torrio or Al Capone himself seated in one of the big, curved leather booths, brandy snifters and cigars in hand.

Just as he's sure they're the first to arrive, he catches a flash of auburn out of the corner of his eye, and Robb's parents are weaving through tables to meet them by the host stand. Jon's met them once before, briefly, when they dropped off some things at the apartment, but the effect is quite different now with everyone polished up for an evening out. Mrs. Stark is elegant in a dark, sleeveless sheath, her auburn hair cut into a chic bob with one, face-defining streak of gray tucked behind a pearl clad ear. Robb and Sansa clearly take after her in the looks department and Jon fights the urge to mess with his tie as she takes them in with a clear-eyed once over.

"Boys," she says warmly as they squeeze past the last table, "we're so glad you could join us tonight." Robb hugs his mom with an affectionate kiss to the temple as Theon shoots finger guns at Dr. Stark, the reserved man standing a foot behind Mrs. Stark in a sportcoat, carrying her purse and shawl.

"Doc and Mrs. S., I wouldn't miss this for the world," Theon exclaims, elbowing Robb out of the way to hug her as well.

"Oh! Well…thank you Theon, but that's quite enough," she pats awkwardly at his back as he swings her bodily from the ground. Robb and Jon meet eyes, briefly with a grin. Theon will have to be managed, tonight. But then again, when doesn't he? If Jon plays his cards right, and doesn’t talk much, and Theon continues to be the distracting smoke bomb that he is, Jon should survive the night unscathed… _as long as Sansa hasn’t told anyone._

Jon opts for a handshake with each of the Stark parents. He's already done enough inappropriate groping with a Stark woman. No need to push the envelope.

"Please, Jon, call us Ned and Catelyn," Mrs. Stark's smile is kind, and Jon supposes that means Sansa has chosen _not_ to share any tales of overfamiliarity on his part. "But not you, Theon!" She wags a finger at the stupid fop, who is bending backwards like he's been struck, over a very annoyed couple trying to enjoy their cocktails. "Until you learn how to iron a shirt and find a tailor…we're Dr. and Mrs. to you."

"Don't go breaking my heart, Mrs. S." Theon is shameless.

"Come, our table is back here," Cat leads them back to one of the large booths in the back, "Robb, where is your sister? Is she on her way?"

"I'm not her keeper, Mom." Robb slides into the booth beside his dad, already talking hockey, while Theon makes a great show of helping Mrs. Stark into the other side. Jon opts for the edge, beside Robb, as far as possible away from Theon, with the quickest escape. _Just in case._

"We'll order some bottles of wine, but by all means, start with a cocktail while Ned looks over the wine list." Mrs. Stark directs the boys, while leaning over her husband's shoulder to point at the menu. It's clear who is going to be running the show tonight, but Jon is grateful for Catelyn's orchestration.

A year ago, he'd have been completely out of his element in this setting, with its fourteen-dollar cocktails and fifty-dollar entrees. Before he graduated and started working for Mance, Jon's idea of a cocktail was pouring some warm coke over a shot of cheap whiskey. In his gap year before law school however, Val introduced him to the city's restaurant scene, and he's developed a passable vocabulary in the interim, though he still can't shake the feeling that he doesn't quite belong. Usually, at a place like this, he'd be sliding up to the bar as the kitchen was shutting down, to score some free drinks with one of Val or Satin's bartender friends. The only food they would eat would be some room temp plate from an earlier misfire, that had waited on a back-hall shelf until the dining room emptied.

Now, Catelyn is rattling off a list of appetizers to their server like it's second nature, "-and finally we’ll have, I don’t' know, two dozen oysters? Does that seem right, Robb? Will you boys eat oysters?"

Jon jostles his knee beneath the table, suddenly all sweaty-palmed and dry-mouthed. _Get it together, Snow. There is literally nothing at stake, here._ "Yes, that sounds great, Mrs. Stark."

"Catelyn, please." She's looking down at the menu still, "And, two more are coming, so we'll order our mains after they arrive. Get the boys drink orders and then my husband will order some wine for the table." She dismisses the server with an arched brow, before turning to Ned. "Where is Sansa? It's unusual for her to be late like this."

"It's only twenty after, dear. You know how traffic is." Ned pats her arm, but she scowls. "Why don't you text her?" he offers.

"I'm not taking my phone out at the table, Ned. How gauche. And Sansa should have known about Friday night traffic and planned accordingly. This really isn't like her. Robb, how is your sister adjusting?"

"Again, not her keeper Mom." Robb is looking at the drink list, and Catelyn taps it down with a perfectly manicured finger, diverting his attention. "What?"

"Robb," she stares intently, and Jon suppresses the urge to elbow his friend under the table. No wonder Stark does so well in mock court. He clearly gets his technique from his mother.

"Mom, I don't know. I haven't even seen her since you dropped her off."

"You haven't seen her? Robb, she's been here for two months!" Robb opens his mouth to respond, but the server is waiting for his drink order and Catelyn cuts him off with another glance up at the poor woman. Jon hopes the Starks are good tippers.

"Uh, I'll have a gimlet, thanks," Robb turns his attention back his mother. "I'm sure she's fine, Mom. It's Sansa. Everything is always sunshine and roses with her. And it's not like I had anyone checking in on me at college."

"Lies. You had me," Theon quips, but he is ignored by everyone.

"Your sister is a young woman on her own for the first time, in one of the most dangerous cities in the country. The least you could do, as her older brother, is check in with her every so often."

"Catelyn," Dr. Stark comes in with the save. "Loyola is a highly-regarded school with a perfectly safe campus. Sansa is smart and responsible and she's been checking in with _us_ every week. You know she's fine."

"All I know, is that she sounds fine. That's not the same as _being_ fine." Robb and Ned share a look, and Jon guesses this is a familiar line of conversation for them. So, Mama Stark is protective. _Great. That’s great._

He needs a drink.

By the time his negroni arrives, the other three men are doing their valiant best to keep the conversation flowing, but Catelyn is growing increasingly snappish over her M.I.A daughter, and it's fueling Jon's own anxiety. _Is she ditching because of him? Shit. Was he supposed to decline the invitation? Is this his fuck up? This is clearly his fuck up._

He is thirty seconds from getting to his feet to excuse himself when Catelyn's head snaps forward, and she exhales in relief. "Sansa! _Where_ have you been?"

Jon's own neck whips sideways, and he's dumbstruck.

"I'm sorry Mom! I know, we are so late. I hope you didn't wait to order because of us." If he thought Sansa was gorgeous in her Rambler's sweatshirt and messy bun, at brunch the other day, she's absolutely radiant now. Her hair is swept to the side in soft coppery waves, reminiscent of one of the old Hollywood starlets his mom loves so much. When she shrugs out of her belted jacket, revealing sinfully bare shoulders and a thigh-skimming, pale yellow dress he _knows_ that he's fucked. "Lollys is participating in a, what was it again?" She turns to a perfectly ordinary girl with blonde hair and big, heavily lashed eyes. "FFT?"

"-B" the girl responds. "A fossil fuel transportation boycott." She smacks her chewing gum, dully.

"Yes, right." Sansa shrugs, with a strained smile. "So, it took us a bit to find an Uber that was both an electric vehicle and…um, not a base model."

"What-" Robb starts, but his sister gives him a minute headshake that clearly screams, _drop it._

"Well, fuck me," Theon stands, "Robb, why the hell didn't you tell me your sister was such a vision of loveliness? Roll out the red carpet. Call the banns. Dr. Stark, consider this my formal request for your daughter's hand. Sign me up for that full time, I'm yours."

"Theon!" Robb and Cat call out at the same time, and Sansa giggles and shakes his hand, cool as a cucumber.

"As much as I love the Jonas brothers, I'm afraid I'm going to have to respectfully decline. While Robb has told me so many nice things about you, Theon, we are pretty much strangers. Weird hang up, I know, but it's kind of a sticking point for me."

Theon fakes a gunshot wound while everyone does their level-best to ignore him.

"Anyway, this is my roommate, Lollys." Introductions continue, and Jon is still frozen in his seat when the sun deigns to shed her light his way at last.

"Hello Jon. It's nice to see you again."

\--

If she thought a bleary-eyed, wild-haired Jon, in a ratty t-shirt and sweatpants was the stuff of dreams, Sansa was completely unprepared for what the cleaned-up version in front of her would do to her neuroreceptors. She should have shoved an extra pair of panties in her purse, because _hot damn,_ the boy is a thirst trap. Normally, she hates being late to things, and by her mother's expression, it's clear that their tardiness has not gone unnoticed, but in this moment, she is thankful for the extra bit of time she had to prepare and observe. Jon was the first one she saw when they slipped into the dark, cozy restaurant, in his dark floral shirt; cuffed sleeves rolled back to reveal stylishly contrasting lining and nicely toned forearms. It seems he's taken Sal's "a little pomade" advice to heart, for his dark curls are tamed back in a sleek low bun and when he looks up at her and says ,"Hello Sansa," in that deep raspy voice, her insides swirl.

She spent ages going back and forth over what to wear. A less self-aware Sansa would have argued that she was trying to send the right message to her parents so they would see her as an adult, and worry less about her being away from home, but let's be real…she ravaged her closet like she was preparing for a date. There is no way in hell that she would ever choose the flirty, off-the-shoulder skater dress that Margaery twisted her arm into buying, if she were only meeting her parents and Robb out for dinner. She swept highlighting cream across her collar bones for Christ's sake, and on second thought, now that she's slid her jacket off, she is painfully aware that she's showing a touch more skin in front of her dad and brother than she's strictly comfortable with. _Oops…too late to turn back now_. She and Lollys are already unforgivably late, and with the way Jon is drinking her in, she can't say she regrets her choices.

Theon is still standing up, ushering for her to squeeze in between him and her mom, but thankfully Lollys, as unperceptive as ever, takes the bait instead. This gives Sansa leave to slide in at the end, beside Jon.

"Girls, appetizers are on the way, along with wine," her mom explains, and Sansa tries not to be too distracted by the brush of Jon's shoulder against her arm. "What did you order, Ned?"

"A Chablis and a cabernet."

"Yes, and we have oysters coming so order a glass of bubbly, if you'd like girls." If she had any reservations about being carded, Sansa might remind her mother that they aren't in Wisconsin anymore, where its legal for minors to drink if they're with their parents, but she keeps her mouth shut. No reason to draw attention to her baby llama age in front of Jon. When the server stops at the table, she orders a glass of sparkling rosé. Lollys orders a gin and tonic…with egg white, because _of cours_ e she does.

_Let the awkwardness commence._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to keep these chapters at somewhat a consistent length...


	6. Chapter 6

_ Alright, Jonny boy. Don't fuck this up.  _

Sansa can't be total jailbait. She's sipping rosé and eating oysters like it's second nature. Jon ate his first raw oyster a month ago. Val and Satin laughed their asses off when it didn't detach from the shell and he made a fool of himself in front of all their artsy friends. Maybe Sansa took a gap year…or two. Wouldn't that be ideal? Meanwhile, he has managed to not sweat through his shirt in the ten minutes she's been sitting beside him. Hormones are under control. Like, he barely even notices the way her thigh presses against his every time she leans closer to hear the conversation. 

"What are you having?" she asks, peeking over his shoulder to read his menu. 

"Um, I don't know. Haven't thought about it yet."

"You've been staring at the menu like you're studying for a test." Robb points out, grabbing the heavy tome from Jon's hands. "It's a steakhouse. Get the bone-in filet mignon or the dry aged ribeye."

"Robb, those are the most expensive cuts on the menu!" Sansa hisses, and her brother shrugs. Jon makes an internal note not to order either item. He's not going to be  _ that _ guy. 

"Mom and Dad are paying." 

"Unbelievable. Just hours after your nonsense excuse about the bill keeping you from inviting Jeyne-"

"Shh!" Robb reaches across Jon to pinch his sister and she squeals, ducking behind Jon. 

"Do I need to run interference?" he asks. 

"Please!" Sansa laughs. "And I can't make up my mind between the petite filet and the salmon. Would you maybe want to share?"

"Sansa! Don't bully Jon into ordering whatever your second choice is." Robb groans. 

"I'm not bullying!"

A death stare from Mrs. Stark, stops the burgeoning argument in its tracks. "Lollys, what course of study are you pursuing at Loyola?" she asks. 

Whatever answer the roommate gives, Jon misses it, because Sansa whispers in his ear, "Pseudo-science". 

"What?"

"Nothing." She smiles, but when her mother's eyes train on her again, she straightens in her seat. 

"Well, that's great that you're taking such initiative in your future, Lollys. Sansa is still undeclared." 

"It's my first semester, Mom."

"Yes, well when you were enrolled at Yale, you were going to pursue a field in STEM, and now you aren't taking a single math or science class. I just don't want you to fritter away your undergraduate years."

"Mom…"

"You went to Yale?" Theon interjects, with enthusiasm. 

"No." She takes a sip of wine.

\---

When Sansa imagined tonight's dinner, she was fully aware that it would be an embarrassing mess, but she didn't think it would be quite so mortifying this quickly. Somehow she and Robb have already devolved into childish bickering and now she's being interrogated about her choice of college, yet again. 

"Dad, how is Arya's driving? Has she run through any more garage doors lately?" It's rude and a little petty to change the subject so baldly, but she's spent too many hours arguing with her mother to revisit this topic. It's far too late to change anything, anyway.

"No more garage doors, but she did knock the mailbox over the other day," her dad says, wincing. "Our insurance premium is going through the roof."

"Just wait until Rickon gets his license."

"Hopefully we'll have a self-driving car by then."

\---

She got into  _ Yale _ . So she's smart and beautiful...and extremely agitated. When Mrs. Stark brought up majors, Sansa's whole body tensed beside him. Now, she drums her fingers over her thigh at a rapid beat, while Robb and Dr. Stark talk about all the cars the Stark family has totaled over the years. Apparently there are more deer in Wisconsin than rats in Chicago. 

Jon tilts his chin toward her, and there's that magical scent in her hair again. "If it makes you feel any better, I didn't declare a major until I had to, and then, I just picked the subject where I had the most credits." 

"And what was that? Panty snapping?" Her fingers still, and he chokes on his drink. 

\---

_ She is straight-up clinical. _ What possessed her to say something so mental? Just because his hands have lived rent-free in her head all week, does not mean he's a horny creep like she is.

"History, actually," he manages, after coughing on an ice cube. She feels his eyes on her, and embarrassment creeps up her neck as she stares at the candle in the center of the table.  _ Who picked this restaurant? _ It's way too romantic for roommate dinner. Clearly the ambiance is at fault for her crazy behavior. 

The server returns to take their order, saving her momentarily from her stupid mouth, and then Lollys dishes up further distraction. "I'm a  _ strict _ vegetarian," she explains as she orders the veal. 

"She's not," Sansa murmurs to no one in particular. 

\---

"I make an exception for young animals, however. If I'm putting meat in  _ this _ temple, it has to be unadulterated." Lollys finishes and the table is silent. Even the server seems unsure of the next move. 

Finally, Theon snorts, muttering something about "adultery", and Robb leans forward to stare at Sansa. 

"What do you call someone who only eats baby animals?" he whispers.

"A psycho." Sansa mouths back, and Jon tries to keep a straight face as the Stark siblings communicate in a series of silent eyerolls and stilted hand gestures beneath the table. 

"What about pediovore?" he offers. 

" _ Oh no _ ," Sansa mutters, and it takes him a moment to realize it's not a response to his attempted joke. Her roommate just said something else, and by the looks of bemused horror (and in Theon's case, absolute glee) on everyone's faces, it must be something more odd than her unprompted apologia for calf slaughter.

Robb opens his mouth to say something, but Sansa reaches across Jon to swat at her brother. 

"Don't. It's not worth it."

"She knows Dad is an epidemiologist, right?" he hisses, and Jon presses himself to the booth in an effort to make room for the squabbling siblings bent over his lap. 

"It doesn't matter. Unless Dad gets quoted by Gwynyth Paltrow in a Goop article, he is never going to convince Lollys that you don't get the swine flu from eating pork."

\---

Lollys is such a trainwreck that Sansa is pretty sure her own idiotic comment has been forgotten by the time the server reaches their side of the table. Robb orders the most expensive cut of steak, of course, and when the server turns her eyes to Jon, he takes Sansa's menu, handing it over with his own. 

"She and I will be sharing the petite filet and the salmon," he glances at her, "medium-rare okay?"

"Mmhmm," she presses her legs together, doing her best not to stare at his forearms. There is something about a rolled-up shirt sleeve that really does it for her. 

As the server walks away, he leans close again, his voice so low, she can feel the rumble of it in her own chest, "I don't know if this counts, but I did take a gender studies class on female pleasure...feminism and the sexological tradition. We didn't cover panty-snapping, but I'm always open to some supplemental coursework." 

She isn't going to make it through dinner. 

  
  


\---

Dinner is going surprisingly well. 

Between Theon and Looney Toon Lollys sucking up all the air in the room, Jon can just sit back and enjoy the tableau, sustained by a steady stream of Sansa's breathy witticisms in his ear. When the runners brought the entrees, she refused to let Jon put half the steak on her plate with the salmon. Instead she's been randomly reaching over his arm with her fork, to steal pieces he's just cut for himself. 

"Minx," he flicks her leg under the table when she does it yet again. She just stares back, wide-eyed and knowing, her fork pressed to her ruby red lips. 

"Eew, Sansa. Stop staring at Jon, you little creep."  _ Shit. Robb.  _ Maybe dinner isn't going as well as Jon thought. He needs to slow down on the wine. 

_ This is not a date.  _

\---

Sansa really needs to cool it with the wine. She keeps forgetting that Jon is not her date. He's her brother's roommate. Her brother, who deserves to lick a frozen pole.  _ Jerk face.  _

"Sansa, what do you say to an early brunch at the Chicago Athletic Association, before shopping tomorrow. Lollys, would you care to join us?" Her mother's ability to be gracious after an hour of her roommate's nonsense impresses even Sansa. Though, to be fair, her parents have had a lot of practice with Theon over the years.

"Where are you going shopping?" Lollys asks.

"Michigan Avenue. I'm almost out of my favorite perfume and I know Macy's carries it. Otherwise, I figured we'd just stroll down the Magnificent Mile and see what catches our eye. It's supposed to be a lovely day. What do you think, girls?"

"That sounds great, Mom." Sansa smiles, fingers crossed that Lollys will decline and in a way that isn't totally offensive. 

"Sorry, but I don't believe in capitalism," Lollys deadpans. 

_ Well, one out of two isn't bad.  _

_ \--- _

Dr. Stark coughs into his napkin as Sansa mutters under her breath. 

"You don't  _ believe _ in it?" Robb takes the bait. 

"No." Lollys shrugs. 

"I think you mean you're  _ against _ it." Robb prods, "because it exists as a global economic and political system, whether you believe in it or not." Sansa's leg jerks under the table like she wants to kick something, and Jon's fingers clench his own thigh, resisting the temptation to grab hers. 

"Yeah, whatever," Lollys rolls her eyes. "I just believe in conscious consumerism."

"Well, that's not actually an idea at odds with capitalism…"

"Robb, drop it!" Sansa hisses, but of course, Robb doesn't...because he never says no to a debate. Under his questioning, Lollys leads them all through a rollercoaster of nonsensical economic philosophy, while Sansa mutters frustratedly in Jon's ear.

"This is total B.S. Conscious consumerism? She's wearing a seven hundred dollar blouse from Versace that she'll probably never wear again. Which, you know whatever. I like clothes too, but even if it  _ wasn't  _ made in a sweatshop, what about that is sustainable? Lollys spouts this nonsense, while spending literally thousands of dollars every week on random shit she finds online. I'm breaking down cardboard boxes and hauling them to the recycling bin like it's my job."

"So Lollys is a champagne socialist?" he cuts in so she can at least take a breath, maybe a sip of water. Cool down a bit. Not that he doesn't appreciate the color on her cheeks. 

Sansa laughs, "A what?"

"You know…a Neiman Marxist…a cashmere communist." 

"That implies Lollys has even a base level understanding of history, economics, or social theory. I'm all for a well-devised critique of capitalism, but you're giving her too much credit, Jon. She's a pop-cultist…a card-carrying member of the Instagram influencer illuminati…

"A buzzfeed bohemian?" 

"Yes! Exactly!" She presses her fingers briefly over his knee, and  _ fuck _ , Mrs. Stark is looking at them. 

"Well, I guess it's just you and I tomorrow, Sansa." 

Jon is not nearly confident enough in the table's ability to obscure the fact that Sansa is sitting too close to him. He can feel Robb's gaze as well. Maybe he should excuse himself. Get some air. 

"Actually Mom, I have someone else in mind, who could join us."

"Margaery…" Robb guesses. 

"Oh Sansa. See, this is why I was concerned about you following your best friend to college."

"Margaery and I don't even go to the same school. She's at DePaul."

"This is the time to be meeting new people, dear."

"I am-"

"Sansa almost never leaves our room," Lollys jumps in, and Jon is pretty sure if the woman beside him could shoot missiles out of her eyes, her roommate would be toast. 

"Oh Sansa, this is exactly what I was worried about. Margaery is a wonderful girl, but she's a crutch."

"She really isn't." Her whole body is tense again, and while Jon doesn't really understand the source of the conflict, he's instinctively on Sansa's side. 

"I'll go shopping with you Mrs. S," Theon interjects. "Anything to spend time with my future wifey."

Sansa quirks her head, gazing at Theon a moment. "Why am I getting grief about Margaery when Robb still lives with his freshman year roommate? Theon and Robb have lived together for what? Five years now? Why aren't you telling him to expand his horizons?"

"Sansa, I think what your mother means-" 

"I know exactly what she means, Dad." Sansa stands up, pulling at her dress as if to cover more of her long dancer's legs. "Excuse me, I need to find the ladies room."

"Cat-"

"Don't, Ned. I know. I know...I just worry about her."

"Why?" Robb asks. "Sansa always has her shit together...excuse my language."

"I just don't want her to limit herself by always playing it safe."

"You were literally just fretting about her being in the bit city alone." 

"Motherhood is full of contradictory worries, Robb." Mrs. Stark pours herself another glass of wine, and Jon has had just enough alcohol himself, to wade in. 

"You know, I grew up in the city."

"I remember Robb mentioning that." Mrs. Stark considers him over her glass. 

"And my best friend, Val, did too."

"Val's in our cohort, at Pritzker," Robb offers. "She's brilliant."

"Yeah, she's smarter than us all. Anyway, when I went off to Urbana-Champaign, she enrolled at UIC, lived with her parents and worked at her brother-in-law's restaurant all four years."

"Okay…" Mrs. Stark frowns at him, like she knows this is a trap. 

"So, you'd think she was the one playing it safe. Yet, I walked away from college with just these two idiots for friends, sorry Robb, not sorry Theon...and a lot of debt. Even attending a state school is expensive these days when you add room and board."  _ And when you're dad's not a doctor.  _ "Anyway, when I moved back home last year, I realized Val somehow knew half the city. She's friends with people who went to Columbia, DePaul, University of Chicago, NYU, Berkeley...you name it."

"That's because Val has infinite charm, and you're friendly as a rock." 

"Seriously, Jon has the personality of a houseplant." Theon adds. 

"Thanks guys."

"He has a point though." Robb leans forward. "Val is the most well-connected person I've ever met. She's basically restaurant royalty. Her brother-in-law was up for a James Beard award last year, which is like a very big deal. She also has a finger on the pulse of every art scene in the city."

"And manages to score better on every exam than you two bumpkins." Theon adds.  _ Rich, coming from the guy who had to beg, borrow, and steal his way to a diploma.  _

"She sounds like an amazing woman." Mrs. Stark says, drily. "We'll have to meet her some time."

Sansa is back at the table now, and Jon throws his arm over the back of the booth as she slides back into her seat. "Val is great, but I guess my point is that it's impossible to play it safe in a city like Chicago. It's impossible not to meet new people and expand your horizons when you're here. In fact, if you don't have a few anchoring relationships, it'd be pretty easy to be swept away in it all."

"Point taken. Sansa, I'm sorry. I'd love for Margaery to join us tomorrow."

\---

Sansa doesn't know quite what to make of the conversation she's walked back into, but she's pretty sure Jon Snow just pulled the equivalent of breaking the sound barrier with a bicycle. Catelyn Tully Stark never changes her mind this fast… and throwing in the apology, too? No wonder he's in law school. 

"Well, she's not even who I had in mind." She glances at Robb, tapping her foot against the table leg, restlessly. 

"Oh, well who did you have in mind."

"Her name is Jeyne."

Sansa should have whipped her phone out, just so she could capture Robb's look of shock. Something to hold over him for all eternity.

"Who is Jeyne?" Their mother asks, and oh, how sweet it is to torment her brother, even with the knowledge that he'll make her pay for this betrayal.  _ Whatever. It's for his own good. _

"A woman I met volunteering."

Robb exhales audibly and their dad asks,"You okay? Maybe go easy on the steak, son. We can have them wrap it up for you."

"She also happens to be dating Robb."  _ The truth had to come out sometime, right? _ At this rate, her idiot brother was never going to bring her up. 

\---

Sansa is  _ unbelievable.  _ Here he is, sticking up for his little sister...er, well...Jon Snow did most of the heavy lifting, but still...Robb was  _ on her side,  _ and now she's outing him and Jeyne. 

_ Treason! Of the highest order.  _

"Robb! Why didn't you tell us you were seeing someone? Is it serious? She could have joined us tonight." Those Tully eyes are boring into him, and he is going to murder Sansa when this night is through. 

"It is serious. They watch BBC murder mysteries together." Theon is also a traitor.  _ Someone fetch the block! _

"Well, this is  _ roommate dinner..."  _ he says, lamely, and even Jon gives him side-eye. "But yeah, it's getting serious, or whatever."

"Mom, she is wonderful! You're going to love her," Sansa cuts in and Robb still doesn't understand. How does Sansa know Jeyne? They met volunteering?  _ How does his saint of a girlfriend have time to volunteer?  _ She's already working and going to school full time. He really doesn't deserve her. "She's a pediatric nurse practitioner, and she's getting her doctorate." 

_ How does Sansa know so much about his girlfriend? _

"Dude, she's  _ my _ girlfriend. Can I at least have the honor of introducing her?" 

"It's literally time for dessert. When were you going to do it, Robb? When they brought out the check?" Sansa is so smug. It's not like he was going to hide Jeyne forever...is it so bad that he didn't want to introduce her at the same table as  _ Theon _ , who can't get through a single meal without hitting on his mom, or Lollys, Sansa's  _ way-crazier-than-he-realized _ roommate? 

\---

As Robb describes Jeyne to Dr. and Mrs. Stark, Sansa sinks into the leather, the back of her head just grazing Jon's arm. "You're a little evil aren't you?" he murmurs, and she flashes him a look of pride. 

"He just needed a nudge," she explains. 

"And you needed a change of topic." She's tapping her foot against his leg again.  _ Does she know what she's doing? _ He can't tell, so he keeps as still as possible. He's not going to make it through this dinner. Before the argument over whoever Margaery is, he was about ready to haul her into his lap…in front of her parents and  _ Robb _ . He's such an idiot.

Thankfully, not as much of an idiot as Theon.

"Alright, now that Robb and Jeyne are out in the open, you ready to go public, Sansa?" The stupid git is ogling her from across the table, and Jon's fingers itch, while everyone else groans. 

"I hardly know you." Sansa answers Theon, while rubbing her toe up Jon's leg.  _ Seriously, does she know what she's doing? _

"So what? Romeo hardly knew Juliet!"

"And look how that ended," she quips. 

At that, Theon scoots out of the booth, going down on one knee, one hand at his chest, the other raised towards Sansa. "Fair Juliet, Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night."

Jon leans in, inadvertently moving his leg, and she freezes. "That is the only line of Shakespeare Theon knows and he's used it on a dozen women, at least… not that the words don't ring true tonight, however."

"Whatever Jon is whispering in your ear, it isn't true!" Theon wobbles, and the Stark patriarchs look less than pleased with how their fancy dinner has broken down. 

"Alright, Mercutio. Get up before someone trips over you with a tray of food" Sansa waves him up with one hand as their server approaches. When she moves to pour more wine for the table, Dr. Stark swipes his hand across his neck to stop her.  _ Wise move, Dr. Stark, but a bottle and a half too late.  _

"Mercuti-a-who? Sorry, Claire and Leo are the only two I remember from that movie." Theon shrugs through another collective groan, and Sansa resumes the slow slide of her foot...down Jon's calf and then up, just under his pant leg.  _ Did she slip out of her heel? _

"Theon is no Mercutio, though if it means he dies in the third act, give him the name," he whispers, and yes, that is definitely her skin...on his skin. 

"Well, if he flirts with my mom or I one more time, Robb looks ready to play Tybalt." She eyes Jon, appraisingly. "So who would that make you?" 

_ He is fucked. _

"Please, let's insert ourselves into a different one of the bard's plays. A comedy perhaps? I'm not interested in the star-crossed lovers' fate." 

"Good point." She looks pensive, sipping at her wine, her toes wiggling against him. "Hmm, well if we're playing on the mistaken identities trope, that leaves us  _ The Tempest, Twelfth Night _ , or  _ Midsummer Night's Dream _ … though  _ All's Well that End's Well _ is the only one I can think of with both mistaken identities and scheming under the sheets." 

\---

_ Someone needs to take away her wine glass.  _

Is she seriously rubbing her foot against Jon like it's a bear and he's a tree? With her dad sitting  _ right there? _ Sansa takes too large a gulp of wine and then, like the travesty that she is, immediately coughs it up. 

"I'm afraid I'm not familiar with that one." Jon says, somehow still talking about Shakespeare, his hand dropping down to her lower back, where he rubs lightly. Thank god, she thinks. If he knew the play, he'd think she was thirsting for a wedding and a baby, and her wishes really couldn't be farther from that plot.  _ This is why you don't flirt using a dead white dude from the sixteenth century as your reference point, Sansa!  _ Stick to the basics…

But what are the basics, again? Not choking on the wine you are technically too young to drink. 

"What have you two been whispering about all night?" Robb squints at them, and Jon's hand leaves her at once. The basics of flirting also probably assume an environment free from the woman who birthed you, the father who still sees you as a child, and your dumb, overprotective brother…

"Shakespeare," she shrugs. 

\---

"Who is up for dessert?" Mrs. Stark asks, and everyone wilts further into their seats. "Sansa? You love sweets...I'll just order something for the table and have them put a candle in it for your birthday."

"Birthday?" Theon rallies. "I just had a birthday too! See? We're soulmates."

"We'll have a piece of the chocolate cake," Catelyn ignores him, waving their server over, "and a candle. Our darling girl is turning nineteen next weekend."

_ Nineteen!  _ Jon is going to hell.  _ You knew she was a freshman, you dolt.  _ But she's been drinking wine all night, and she's smart and witty, and her leg is wrapped around him like a vine on a pole. 

\--

He’s freaking out about her age. She can see it on his face.  _ How old did he think she was?  _ It’s not like she’s a child, no matter what Robb says. How old is  _ he? _

Her family singing happy birthday in public does not help matters. 

By the time the bill arrives, there is a gulf of two inches between her and Jon, and Sansa is dying a slow death as she replays the night in her head.  _ Did you fight with your brother like you were fourteen again? Check. Did your mother imply you are incapable of making adult choices? Check. Did your roommate tell the whole table you have no friends? Check. Despite all of that, did you still shamelessly throw yourself at the poor man whose bed you crawled into, uninvited, only last week? Check. _

As her dad hands over a credit card, she excuses herself to the bathroom. With a little luck Jon will have left by the time she makes it back to the table. 

She may have to transfer to Ohio State yet. 

\---

When the server returns, everyone scoots out of the booth. Sansa is still in the bathroom, but it seems Jon is the only one to recall that fact, as the others start weaving through the tables toward the front. 

He grabs her jacket, and heads in the other direction. 

The restrooms are in the back, next to the kitchen, and he leans against the wall, listening to the cooks talk shit to the servers. The dinner rush is clearly winding down, and a few of the front-of-house staff are picking at a plate beneath the heat lamp. 

So what if she’s only nineteen. _..er, almost nineteen.  _ She’s still an adult. And he wants her. He  _ really  _ wants her. 

When she emerges from behind the frosted glass door, her hair freshly tousled and a new coat of red swept across her beautiful lips, glowing like a honeyed flame in the dim light, he makes up his mind. 

\---

"A shopping spree on Michigan Avenue for your birthday, huh? Lucky girl. I usually get a book...maybe my mom’s monkey bread, if I’ve been good that year."

He’s leaning against the wall, looking impossibly handsome, and hope and arousal bloom within her once more. 

"Too bad I can't buy what I  _ really _ want at Water Tower Place." She bites her lip. 

"Oh?” He pushes off the wall and steps toward her, dark and full of promise.

_ Just say it Sansa.  _ Isn't her therapist always telling her to voice her wants and needs? Speak her world into existence, so to speak.  _ Now’s your chance.  _

"What do you want for your birthday, Sansa?" He asks, and her name sounds like smoke on his lips. With the way he's studying her so intently, he might be able to grant her birthday wish with his flinty eyes alone. 

"Well, I have a bit of a problem, you see,” she runs her fingers through her hair, a flutter of nerves in her stomach. 

"Does she start with an 'L', end with an 'ys', and is most likely the recipient of a partial lobotomy?"

"Jon Snow!" 

\---

He loves the way she gasps his name. Husky and high at the same time. He imagines what she'd sound like with her lips pressed just under his ear. Huskier and higher. 

"Well?"

"She’s certainly an obstacle to me resolving the problem on my own, but she's not the root cause." She shifts closer, placing the toe of her white kitten heel between his tobacco oxfords. "You see, someone started something last week that they didn't finish." Her sea blue eyes peek up through thick dark lashes and he’s done for. “Since then, I just haven't been able to find any... _ release. _ "

\---

He’s looking down at her like he’s going to eat her.  _ Please do,  _ she wants to scream, He leans in and he’s going to kiss her, and that’s what she’s wanted  _ all _ night. Her lids flutter closed and…

“Get a room,  _ ese _ !” someone catcalls, and she jumps into Jon’s arms as he lets out a shaky laugh. She had completely forgotten that the kitchen was open, and right behind them. 

She turns her head, still clinging to Jon as she calls back. “They’re harder to come by than you’d think!”

This earns some more good-natured laughs from the staff, and Jon presses his lips to her hair, “Come on Goldilocks. Everyone is waiting outside. We should meet them before they send Theon back to ruin the moment.”

But she doesn’t want to. She wants to drag Jon into the bathroom, lock the door and make him push her against a wall. She wants him to eat her for dessert. She wants him to run his hands all over her body. She wants him to make her come! 

_ Had she not made herself clear?  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy. 
> 
> I'll come back and add some notes later, but I wanted to get this nonsense posted before dinner. 
> 
> Cheers! And sorry for the long long wait!


	7. Chapter 7

Jon doesn't want to go outside. 

It took every ounce of restraint not to push Sansa back into the restroom and up against the tiled wall. Telling him she needs _release…_ and now she's weaving through the tables ahead of him, and all he can do is watch helplessly as her long, graceful legs take her out the door, and out of his orbit. 

A cab is idling outside, and Dr. Stark is bent over the front passenger window, begging the driver to wait another moment, "We just need to say goodnight to our daughter-"

"There she is!" Mrs. Stark rushes forward, nudging Robb out of the way, so she can hug Sansa. "Sorry, darling. We completely forgot you were still inside. Chalk it up to too much Chablis!"

"No problem, Mom-"

"Come on Cat, we're about to lose our cab," Ned gives a harried wave. "Sansa, do you and Lollys need a ride?"

"No, that's fine. We'll get an Uber," Sansa says, but at that moment a black G-wagon pulls up behind the cab, and an unseen entity opens the back door, letting Drake's "In My Feelings" spill onto the street. 

"Sansa, you're on your own tonight. I'm going out. Invite-only. Don't wait up." And before anyone can respond, Lollys disappears into a shreiking abyss; _Walk that ass, walk-walk that ass._

"They make electric G-wagons?" Theon asks, and Robb thumps him in the stomach, laughing. 

"Definitely not." 

The cab honks, and Dr. Stark holds a finger up to the driver again. "Sansa, you coming?" But Jon does his best to will her to wait with only his eyes, and hers crease at the corners as she glances back at him. 

"I'm fine, Dad. Go on before you lose _your_ ride." Dr. Stark nods, barely getting his feet inside before the cab is swerving back into traffic.

"Holy shit. Lollys is _insane._ " Theon yells, and it's saying a lot when the sentiment is coming from their own resident lunatic. 

Sansa glares at her brother. "I _told_ _you,_ Robb!" 

"Yeah, well, you failed to paint the full portrait, Sans. That girl is way beyond your average bad freshman roomie. She's a disaster."

"But kind of a fun one." Theon adds. Robb whacks him again. 

"She's making my life miserable." 

"Hang in there, sis. Until you can transfer rooms, you can stay at our place anytime, right guys?" Robb turns to Jon, who does his best to keep a neutral face. 

"Yeah, of course." 

"Theon?"

"Obviously, my future wife is always welcome." Robb swings at him again, but Theon jumps back with a grin. "What? I'll be a perfect gentleman! I'm not fucking up my chance to be a Stark!"

Robb's face is beginning to match his hair, and though he's a few inches shorter, he's probably got thirty pounds on Theon. While Jon spends an inappropriate amount of time fantasizing about kicking Greyjoy's ass, he's ready to intervene when Sansa speaks up instead. 

"It's fine, Robb. I can handle shameless flirting over the stench of hard-boiled eggs and Lollys's constant celebrity product-hawking any day." 

"Don't worry," Jon pipes in. "Theon has a short attention span and a girlfriend. He'll forget his marriage proposal within the week."

"Ros and I are in an open relationship!"

"Theoretically. Try as he might, Theon can't seem to find anyone else who wants in."

"Says the man who just got dumped in front of all of his friends."

"Stop bickering, you two. Sansa doesn't care about _either_ of your relationship statuses. She's a baby platypus who needs to focus on her studies-"

"Robb!"

"What? You are. Now, you have a car coming to pick you up or what? Because we can't wait around all night. We have a meeting to attend at The Office."

"The Office?"

"It's a bar." Jon explains. A bar he has no interest in visiting if Sansa isn't coming with them. 

"Satin is waiting for us and he says violet eyes with the dragon tattoo is bartending tonight." Robb wraps an arm around his neck, trying to wrangle him down the sidewalk. 

"Last time we were there, she was practically eye-fucking Jon from across the counter."

"Ugh, Theon. Stop talking." Jon shrugs out of Robb's embrace, but it's too late. Sansa is looking down at her phone, with a decidedly less amused expression. 

"Let's go, guys. Sansa is fine," Robb backs down the sidewalk. "And don't think I'm going to forget your shenanigans regarding Jeyne either! _Snitch!_ "

She waves her brother away, still staring at her phone. "Yeah, whatever you come up with, it was worth it, dear brother. Have fun with _Violet Eyes_ ." She doesn't look up at the last, though Jon tries surreptitiously to catch her eye. No fucking way is he letting the night end like _this._

"I'm actually calling it a night."

_"What?"_ Robb groans. 

He can feel his friends spin around to glare at him, but he's watching Sansa, her face perfectly neutral above the white glow of her screen. 

"Yeah, I've got a long day tomorrow. Thanks to you, Robb, I'm in early at Mance's, doing inventory before my closing shift."

"But the drinks at The Office are _expensive!_ " Theon pleads. "I can't afford their fancy-as-shit cocktails." 

"Yeah dude, we need _you_ to get free drinks," Rob says, "and, you know, because we enjoy your company or whatever."

"You told your parents I have the personality of a rock." 

"Yeah, but a nice-looking one...that, you know, other people seem to enjoy giving free shit to."

"Too little, too late. You are on your own. Maybe Theon can woo Daenerys, which is her name, by the way... with his tired Romeo quote, though she seems more of a Lady Macbeth type, if you ask me. She's in the middle of an inheritance dispute with her own brother. She wasn't _eye fucking_ me, as you so eloquently put it. She was asking for legal advice. In fact, she was pretty annoyed when I told her I'd drop the case and try to make amends with my only family member."

"Whatever my man, she was not staring at you that way because of the half-semester of law school under your belt."

Jon bats him away, eager for all conversation about other women to end. After another round of sniping at one another, his roommates give up on him and head west. Sansa stands at the curb, her toes balanced over the edge, facing away. As soon as Robb and Theon have crossed to the next block, Jon plants himself beside her. 

"Cancel your ride."

"And why would I do that?" Her voice is cool as she stares up at the Merchandise Mart, lit up in gold above them, refusing to meet his eye, but her lips purse as if she's trying to suppress a smile and Jon nudges her just enough for her to lose her balance. "Hey!"

He catches her by the waist before she trips into the street. "Cancel your ride because I'd like to finish what I started...if you want me to, that is."

" _Oh_." She stares up at him, flushed and beautiful, her perfect lips just parted and he's desperate to kiss her. "Well, there's no need, since I never even opened the app." 

\----

Jon Snow is about to kiss her, and Sansa is going to melt into the cement the moment he does. It was all fun and games until he wrapped a brawny bicep around her waist. Now, she's pressed against him, burning beneath his flinty gaze, and his lips are so close and…

_WEE-oww-WEE-oww!_ An ambulance followed by two police cars come whizzing down the street, ruining the moment. Jon pulls her back to the middle of the sidewalk, putting more distance than she'd prefer between their bodies. 

He scratches at the stubble on his chin, his dark brows coming together in a frown. "I'm not going to your dorm."

"Obviously." She thinks about Lollys's vagina candle and cringes. 

"And you can't come back to my place. Not tonight." _Is he implying there will be other nights?_ Other nights, when he _will_ take her home? She curls her toes. 

"Okay, so where?" She never thought she'd be the kind of girl to make it in an alley, but she's also never been quite this turned on before. If she just focuses on Jon Snow and his frustratingly sexy forearms and his deceptively dark eyes, and his irresponsibly pouty lips, maybe she'll be able to ignore her fear of rats and muggers and garbage. 

"I have an idea. You up for a walk along the Chicago river?" His eyes rake down her body, frowning when he lands on her white leather pumps. "On second thought, maybe we should get a cab."

"Let's walk." She needs fresh air and time to pull herself together. 

"The place I have in mind is probably twenty minutes away...maybe a little further. Can you handle that in heels?"

"Of course. I'm not an _amateur._ " She places a hand on her hip and shimmies by him in her best sexy runway impression. He rewards her with a quick slap across her rear. 

"Good girl," and it's _amazing_ what those two words, coming from Jon Snow's mouth, do to her. Maybe they should take a cab. 

" _Ahem!_ We're in public."

He leans forward, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Imagine what I'll do when we're not."

_God, yes._ She will. 

\--

Sansa is in love. 

Not with Jon Snow...though, as she revels in the feel of his calloused fingers wrapped around her own, and the dark glances he keeps flicking her way, she knows if she's not careful, that'd be an easy fall to make as well. Every time their eyes meet, she feels as sparkly and colorful as the city lights twinkling around them, and gloriously nervous when she imagines what happens next. 

Tonight, she is in love with a feeling; this giddiness, this rush, this pinch of her toes in her shoes, and the cool breeze sweeping up from the river to spray across her bare thighs and lift her skirt _just_ high enough to feel dangerous. She is high on this edge; between excitement and fear; pleasure and discomfort; inevitability and infinite possibility. 

"Where are we going?"

"For the thousandth time, it's a surprise." 

She can't contain it. She doesn't know what to do with the energy bubbling up from her stomach, so...she bumps Jon with her hip. 

"What was that for?" He laughs, and she thrills at the deep rasp of his voice. It's a man's voice...and she's never been with a man. 

She juts her hip into him again, and squeals when he anticipates her, dropping his hand to grasp her around the waist and lift her from the air. Instinctively, she wraps her legs around him, as he sets her down on the cold stone balustrade. 

There's nothing between her and the river below, except the cool night air and Jon Snow's hands, warm and firm against the curve of her spine. She clutches his jacket, but he doesn't give her time to panic before his lips are on hers, firm and hot and... _oh yes. More of this, Jon Snow. More kisses. More air. More tongues sliding together. More hands palming her ass. More rough stone against her thighs. More city lights shining all around._

"Whew. Okay…" he pulls back, and she stares at his Adam's apple, bobbing as he sucks in a breath. Her own comes shaky and shallow. "Shall we...ah, continue on to our destination? It's just a little further." 

"Okay," but when he sets her down, she's literally weak-kneed and he laughs, throaty and deep, and _that's_ not helping her stay on her feet. 

"We can still hail a cab. _I_ wouldn't be able to walk long in those shoes."

"The shoes aren't the problem." 

This earns her a devilish grin and a hip squeeze. "Stop, or we won't make it any further."

"Are you going to ravish me right here on the street?" She doesn't know where these words are coming from. The Sansa she knows is _never_ this bold. The Sansa she knows keeps her fantasies to herself. It's usually safer that way. 

"Is that an invitation?" Jon all but growls and Sansa lose all interest in playing it safe. 

\--

She's going to end him, right here on the street. Jon doesn't even _like_ flirting. It's tedious and awkward, and he feels embarrassed for the poor schmucks he sees attempting the endeavor. More often than not, one of the two parties goes too far or can't land their line, and then the moment is ruined. Why _flirt_ when you can just hold eye contact a little longer than usual and mouth an invitation to 'get out of here' in their ear? 

That's always worked fine for him. 

But with Sansa, tonight, it's all so easy and fun, and every time he says something wickedly out-of-character she bites her lower lip, and it's going to _end him._

When they cross beneath Lake Shore Drive, though, she hesitates, staring out at the lake, calm and glowing beneath the Chicago skyline. "Um, did we miss a turn?"

"No."

"Jon, there's nothing left but the lake." Instead of answering, he snakes a hand down past the small of her back and over the swell of her ass, to trace a lazy line along the goosebumps dotting the back of her thigh. "Ah!" she squirms, and he kisses her again. 

"Just trust me, okay?"

"That's what men say to women right before they dump their body off the end of a dock." 

When he leads her to the boat slips at DuSable Harbor, she squeals with laughter, and he can barely keep it together either. "Oh, my god. Jon Snow, murder is not the _release_ I was talking about!" 

And now he's really dying. They cling to each other beneath a lamppost, hysterical. An older couple passes them, walking their dog, and Jon catches the woman whispering something about "young love" to the man, and for maybe the first time, the expression actually makes some sense to him. 

Not that he's in love. 

That'd be _crazy._

But he feels young and stupid, in the best possible way _,_ and Sansa's hands feel like life, pulling at his jacket, her lips brushing against his neck as her laughter drops to a needy moan. 

"Please tell me you own a boat. I can't wait much longer."

\--

_I can't wait much longer?_ There is something wrong with Sansa. Sounds and words are just spewing out of her mouth that she did _not_ green-light. A minute ago, she jokingly accused Jon of being a serial killer, and now she's pawing at him like he's got catnip under his collar. Her voice is all high and needy, and honestly if Jon decides to push her into the lake, at this point, she wouldn't blame him. 

She could use a cold dose of reality. Something to bring her back down from this unfamiliar plane of giddy desire. Lollys could leave her alone for hours, and Sansa would never be able to work herself up like _this._

_And all he's done so far is kiss her._

In their _very_ short acquaintance, Jon Snow has not struck Sansa as particularly wealthy, so the fact that he has brought her to the empty harbor, in the dark of night, should perhaps raise some alarms...or at least that's what the tiny shred of rational thought she has left is telling her. But too bad Common Sense. Someone else is steering the ship tonight; someone who let the champagne bubbles go to her head and now feels like she's inhaled helium. As long as Jon Snow takes care of the achy want that is spiraling out from her core and spreading through her veins like wildfire, he can murder Sansa as many times as he wants. 

"I don't _own_ a boat…" he pulls away, looking mildly sheepish as he leads her to a slip where a large sailboat named _Black Betha_ sits. As she gapes, he climbs aboard, disappearing for a moment as he tries the cabin door. 

"Wait...are we breaking and entering?" 

"Not exactly. Davos doesn't lock the cabin. He says the cost of repairing the door would be more than anything someone would steal inside."

_He's on a first-name basis with the owner, at least._ "So, you have permission to use the boat?"

Jon appears above her, crouching over the port side. His dark curls have escaped his bun and are fluttering around his face in the breeze. "I mean, he took me out a few times this summer, and said I'm welcome anytime…" He trails off, muttering an admission that _this_ maybe isn't what Davos had in mind. 

"Who is Davos?"

"A regular at the restaurant I work at. He's a retired diplomat or something… I can't actually remember. He's one of those people who seems like they've lived nine lives, with all the crazy stories he tells."

"And you're sure he wouldn't mind us being here?"

"Uh… well, I'm more of an ask forgiveness than permission type. Either way, it's nothing for you to fret over, birthday girl." He flashes her another dazzling smile as he hoists her over the deck and into the cockpit. When she shivers, he rubs the sleeves of her jacket. "Cold?"

"No," Nerves hit her like a brick wall, and she looks away, suddenly unable to meet his gaze. _What is she doing? She's a baby platypus, for chrissake! What business does she have with Jon Snow on a boat on Lake Michigan in the middle of the night? How has she gotten this far? What does she do next? Does he think she knows what she's doing? She's a baby llama!_

-

She's freaking out. A minute ago she seemed fine, eager even. But suddenly, she's stiff as a board and looking anywhere but at him. This was a mistake. A big fucking mistake. 

_Jon, you asshole. You brought her to the floating equivalent of a one-hour motel...she basically implied you might be a serial killer. This is the same girl who barricaded herself inside a bedroom last time you were alone with her...how did you think this was going to go?_

Her hair whips in her face, and when he moves to tuck it behind her ear, she flinches. 

_Shit._ The boat rocks beneath their feet, and the earth's axis tilts several dangerous degrees. He has to make this right. 

"The first time I went sailing with Davos, I fell in the lake." 

" _Really?"_ She glances up at him, eyes wide, and he takes a step away, sliding into one of the bench seats. She takes his cue, perching on the one opposite, crossing her ankles beneath her and to the side, like some movie starlet of a bygone era. Long, pale lines, and dark wavy hair. 

She's beautiful. 

He shrugs, "I'd never been on a boat before this past summer."

" _What?_ How is that even possible? You grew up on the lake." Incredulity replaces her panic, and he'll take it. Hell, he'll pitch himself backwards into the water all over again if it'll put her at ease once more.

"I grew up in Little Village," he scoffs, but her expression is blank and he reminds himself that probably means nothing to her. "Look, I grew up on the west side, and no one I knew growing up had a boat."

"So you fell in, the first time you set foot on one?" her lips quirk and he leans back, letting his shoulders relax. _Talking is good. Just keep talking._

"Sure did. Davos took me out on this beautiful day last June, and for the first hour I kept my ass glued to this seat, but, you know, Davos started weaving a tale, and the sun was warm but the breeze was cool, and we had a couple of beers and I relaxed. When he asked me to drop the anchor for him, stowed up at the bow, I sprang to my feet, all eager to make myself useful, but I didn't understand what he was saying when he told me to keep to the starboard side, so like an idiot I went the wrong way and got knocked over by the sail."

"You didn't!" Sansa leans forward, eyes bright, and the knot of anxiety loosens in Jon's gut. 

"I did. Right in front of a yacht party."

"Oh, _no_. Can you swim?"

"I mean...technically. I was so shocked by the fall though, I was barely treading water. I was saved by a scrawny teenage boy from the yacht, who had apparently just passed his lifeguard certification. This kid was _maybe_ a hundred and fifteen pounds on a good day, and he had to drag me to safety, while I sputtered like a dying engine behind him, my life flashing before my eyes."

"After that ordeal, I'm shocked you ever went out on the water again." Sansa moves to his side, placing her hand over his in a gesture of comfort, but there is mischief in her eyes. "You're so brave to return to the scene of such a...traumatic experience."

"I'd say it was more of a humiliation than a trauma," he squeezes her hand and her smile is a beacon. "When the idea popped into my head to bring you here, I promise you, I had no intention of sharing the story that proves what a fool I am. But what can I say...I have no game."

"That isn't true," her hand slides from his to squeeze lightly at his thigh. "Your near-death experience is kind of doing it for me…" 

"Oh, yeah?" _Thank god._

"Well, it reminded me you're an actual person, and not some fantasy I conjured in a moment of sex-starved desperation." She laughs, and he can't stop himself from kissing her again. 

\--

His kisses are a frantic smattering across her cheekbones and the bridge of her nose, and she can't stop giggling because his hands have made their way inside her jacket, and they're tickling up her sides, feather light, and he's laughing too as his lips move downward, and her eyes catch the skyline, and she swears the city lights are raining down on her like stars. When his lips graze her neck, she dissolves. 

" _Jon..."_

"Tell me what you want, Sansa."

He obviously knows what she wants. _Why does she have to say it?_ "I want you," she pants, all but airless. 

He stills, pulling away, and she's aflame beneath his black gaze. "There are a lot of ways to have me, so you're going to need to be a bit more specific than that, babe."

_Oh. Well, shit._

"Um," her thoughts scramble. "I want you to ah...take charge." 

His grip tightens at her hip, and she swears his voice drops another register when he rasps, "Okay, sweetheart. I can do that."

And then he's pulling her by the hand, down into the dim cabin, and she's vaguely aware of teak paneling and white upholstery beyond a galley kitchen, where he slides her jacket off, dragging his thumbs across her collar bones as his broad fingers fan over the exposed slope of her shoulders, kinetic and warm. 

He stares down at her, probing and silent, and she knows she's out of her depth, but she doesn't care. _What is he waiting for?_

"I'm not a virgin," the words dart out before her stupid brain can close her stupid mouth and she can practically see them floating in the space between Jon and her, like a flashing neon sign. _Only a virgin would say 'I'm not a virgin'...you idiot._

_She's not though…_ So what if it's been three years? Two fumbling, rushed times in Joffrey Baratheon's basement that would leave her confused, unsatisfied, and ultimately end up changing her life forever, _still_ _count_ , even if she's spent every waking moment since then doing her best to expel the whole experience from her memory. 

Jon presses a soft, almost tender kiss to the corner of her mouth. 

"I'm not either, but unless you brought a condom, we're not getting _that far_ tonight," he says, his eyes warm with amusement, and she's so relieved he's not cringing, that she collapses into him, wrapping her arms tight around his waist, and he hugs her back, his chest humming. 

"I didn't," she whispers into his shoulder. 

"Don't worry, if we put our heads together, I'm sure we'll find other ways to find that release you're looking for." His hands roam her back in lazy circles, and she has the briefest impression of a handler calming a skittish horse, before they slip under her skirt to squeeze the bare cheeks of her ass. 

"Now Miss Stark, how am I to practice any snapping, when my lab partner has no panties to speak of?" He lifts her up so they're nose to nose, his hands palming the backs of her thighs as she wraps her legs around him, letting her heels slip from her feet with a giggle. 

_Is this where she tells him she already soaked through a pair during dinner?_

But Jon doesn't wait for a reply, before he's backing her through another doorway where he sets her gently down upon a bed.

"What _am_ I going to do with you?" 

_Whatever you want,_ she wants to tell him. 

\---

She's absolutely gorgeous in the warm yellow light of the cabin, leaning back on her elbows, her pale yellow dress fanning out across the white bedspread, her coppery hair windswept and tousled over one shoulder, her blue eyes blown out to black. 

He could watch her all day. 

Shrugging out of his jacket, he kicks off his shoes, taking in the way she chews at her bottom lip, and the rapid rise and fall of her chest. _Don't fuck this up, Snow._

"Show me where you like to be touched."

"Huh?" A fresh bloom of color splashes across her chest before creeping up her neck, and he wants to follow it with his teeth, but he waits, rolling up his sleeves instead. If she wants him to take charge, he will, but she's not getting away with complete passivity. Sansa strikes him as someone who would follow wherever he leads, and only later, after she's blocked his number and told Robb to kick his ass, would he realize how badly he got it wrong.

He _really_ doesn't want to get this wrong.

"You heard me. Show me where you want me to touch you." 

\----

_Where I want you to touch me? Um...everywhere...Duh._ Jon is staring down at her, and Sansa fixates on the tendons shifting along his forearms, where he's folding up his shirt sleeves with his long graceful fingers. Why is that so sexy? She can't _think_ around him, let alone _act._

But she wants those fingers on her, and it's clear by the curve of his lips, and the sharp, almost clinical slant of his eyes, that he isn't making another move until she does as he says. 

" _Okay,"_ she whispers before sucking in a breath. She can do this. She wants to do this. So she closes her eyes and lies back. 

_Where I want you to touch me..._

She can hear Jon fiddling with something, and then a radio turns on, jarringly loud. 

" _Shh_ ...Sorry," he turns the volume down, tuning the dial until he finds a Spanish station where a woman's voice cracks with feeling against a hauntingly romantic guitar. Sansa taps the rhythm against her ribcage, enjoying the gentle swaying of the boat beneath her. The mattress shifts with Jon's weight, and his scent rolls over her as he lies beside her. _Wood smoke and wine_. "You're beautiful," he whispers, low against her temple, and glowing desire overtakes the last of her nerves. 

Slowly, she drags the tips of her fingers up her sternum, and across the low, wide neckline that meets the swell of her breasts, letting her nails slip just beneath the hem. 

"Is there anything that's a nonstarter for you?" his own fingers are now following her path, and she shudders in anticipation, bringing her other hand up to carelessly circle a breast. 

_A nonstarter?_ She's already halfway around the track...Jon Snow could do nothing but stare at her with those smokey eyes of his, and she'd still fall apart sooner rather than later, but she appreciates his interest in what she wants. That's new and delightful. 

"Ah, not that I can think of…" she gasps when he pinches her opposite nipple, following quickly with his mouth, warm and wet over the top of her breast. 

"Mmkay, just tell me if something isn't doing it for you," he murmurs, and then with deft hands he's pulling down the top of her dress, fully exposing her breasts, and effectively locking her arms in place at her sides with her sleeves. The shock of air perks her nipples, and the folded shelf bra of her Bardot dress pushes them skyward. 

Before she can feel shy, Jon seals his lips over one, sucking hard while rolling the other between forefinger and thumb. Her vision narrows, and a bolt of arousal shoots down her spine. " _Oh, my god_ …"

"Mm-hmm…" Jon concurs, shifting fully over Sansa, and her eyes flutter open to watch him stare at her chest. He's so beautiful, dark and focused above her, bracing himself with one arm, while rubbing the pad of his thumb distractedly over her areola. It's almost too much. When he ducks down, taking a nipple between his teeth, she moans, lifting her pelvis up to meet him and for a brief moment of bliss he grinds into her. Too soon, he breaks away to revel in her skirt pooling at her belly, before arching further down to stare at her bare lower half. 

"Can I touch you?"

"Hmm?" _Can he touch her?_ What has he been doing, if not _touching_ her? "I'll _literally_ die if you don't..." 

He chuckles, glancing up to meet her eyes, "Well, we can't have that…" 

He kisses her again, swallowing her moan as his hand glides down her abdomen, briefly stopping at the neat patch of hair she keeps trimmed above her clit, before he's circling her with his thumb, so lightly that she can't stop from bucking into his hand, gasping as his fingers dip into her seam. 

" _Fuck,_ you're so wet," he rasps, and she's vaguely aware he's as breathless as she is now, but then his fingers curl inside her and his thumb flicks her clit, and she's incapable of coherent thought. She rides the wave of pleasure building where his hand moves, rocking into her, as he mutters into the curve of her neck, " _you're fucking perfect, Sansa...fucking perfect."_

She turns, finding his mouth, sloppily, with hers, before she's floating above the bed... _above the boat, and the water, and the city and its white and yellow lights, twinkling everywhere, and…and_

_"Yes, yes, Jon, yes, don't stop, don't stop…" Seriously, don't stop!_ Under other circumstances, she’d be mortified by the shriek of protest that escapes her when Jon's slips his magical fingers from her slick heat, but she's _so_ close, so instead she grabs his wrist in a pathetic attempt to return his hand, but he's much stronger than her, so she follows uselessly as he rumbles with quiet laughter. 

She stares in wide-eyed fascination, as he brings his fingers, coated in _her_ , to his lips. His own eyes close as he slips one, then two in his mouth, and she's going to die of embarrassment. She can't watch. _She had garlic tonight...what if she tastes horrible?_

"You taste amazing," he whispers at her cheek, nuzzling the side of her nose. "I want to eat you out. Is that okay?"

" _Um...I don't know,_ " she hates how small her voice is. _She's going to ruin the moment with her insecurity, and Jon Snow is going to realize what a baby she is, and he's never going to touch her again with his beautiful fingers or his perfect mouth, and she's going to die alone in a room full of Lolly's vagina candles and…_

"Okay babe, whatever you want," he kisses her again, and his hand tickles up her inner thigh, before returning to her warmth, and his mouth is on her neck and then sucking at her breast, and his thumb has found that perfect pressure against her clit again and just like _that_ she's rising back up, and up, and _up_. Jon Snow murmurs into the hollow at her throat, " _you're perfect, Sansa,"_ and she shatters into a thousand fragments of light. 

\---

"Jon Snow, I'm very glad you bought the wrong sheets."

Jon opens his eyes, staring up at the low ceiling of the cabin, still quelling the frantic beat of his heart, and the throbbing trapped at his thigh. "Oh?" he grazes her fingers with his own. _What is she talking about?_ He has no thoughts left in his brain...just a pleasant buzzing at his temples. 

"If you hadn't, I wouldn't have mistaken your room for my brothers, and I never would have slept in your bed...and well, I'm _very_ glad that I did."

He rolls into her, nipping at her shoulder, inhaling the scent of her hair. "Me too, babe. _Me_ too."

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh snap...writing smut is hard. Who knew? (Probably a lot of people...but you know, I just assumed since I've had plenty of it, writing about sex would be easy. BOY, was I wrong.)
> 
> Major kudos to all the smut writers out there. You are amazing. 
> 
> Please be gentle in the comments. I know this fic is already a chaotic beast, but I did my best to finish it on a sweet and hopefully steamy note. Eyes closed and fingers crossed. 
> 
> Also, I hope to visit these silly characters, hanging out in my favorite city again, so while this is the end of this little fic, I'll probably create a series at some point...and perhaps practice my smut-writing again sometime...let me know if that would interest anyone. 
> 
> I started writing this story in a haze of pandemic-induced yearning and I'm ending it in a haze of pandemic-induced yearning. Here's to an improved roll-out of vaccines in the weeks to come and a 2021 that is a little kinder to everyone.
> 
> Update: LOL, why did I say this was going to be the last chapter? I already have half of the next written in my head. I think I just wanted to complete something...sigh.


End file.
